


The Art of Loving You

by Eternalsunshineofafangirlingmind



Category: British Actor RPF, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternalsunshineofafangirlingmind/pseuds/Eternalsunshineofafangirlingmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violet and Tom met in 2011 and were immediately taken with each other. When their friendship with benefits abruptly comes to an end, Violet leaves for Paris. In 2015, their paths cross again while Tom is in town to film a spy thriller. With the City of Lights as the background for their reunion, will circumstances allow them to be together again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: All These Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: This starts a bit angsty and it contains profanity and cigarette smoking.)

“Vi, what’s wrong?” inquired a concerned Tom; her silence had become deafening to his ears. His gaze never left the figure smoking a cigarette by the window. He could not fathom what had happened; everything was fine before while they were having sex. Violet’s skin was silk beneath his fingers and every little movement felt effortless. He liked to take his time, kissing the swell of her chest and violently wrapping his arms around her waist. The only thing off was her lips, which tasted magical along with a twinge of something bitter. Tom did not care to think much of it, but now his lips seemed to throb because of its poison-like effect.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tom,” she sighed sadly. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“What doesn’t? Was it something I did in bed? Did I hurt you?”

Violet lifted her melancholically grey eyes at him and smiled slightly. She knew he enjoyed dominating her, and he was always incredibly believable. However, she knew he would never cause her harm; he never said, but she could sense it. It was odd, seeing the level of distress register on his face. It was so unlike his usual, cheery self. She wondered whether she was justified for feeling the way she did about Tom. Then again, he was the one who said, “You can’t really legislate for the decisions that your heart makes.”

“No, Tom. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…me.”

“Are you seriously thinking you can get away with this ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit?” he asked, sounding agitated.

“You have idea how ridiculous it feels,” she snapped. “Do you know I can’t bring myself to sleep with any other man anymore? But I hate knowing the fact that all you do is show up, fuck me, and leave.”

“That’s a lie, Violet, and you know it. We were, and we are, friends, and I’m not going to lose you as a friend.”

“Now you’re the one talking bullshit,” she whispered, taking another puff.

Tom’s hands clenched into a hard fist and, through gritted teeth, he seethed, “Will you put down that useless thing? It’s not healthy.”

“Neither are you, but I still let you in my mouth.” 

“STOP IT,” he barked. “Will you stop wallowing in your misery?! Could you have bothered to tell me how sick I’ve made you? If you‘d told me earlier, I could have picked up my crap and left.”

“I’m the one leaving, Tom. I asked to be transferred to the art gallery in Paris; I can’t stay here.”

Tom was too absorbed in his anger to fully grasp her words. Instinct told him to leave her immediately and never bother with her again. His heart, though, spoke something else entirely. Pursing his lips, he thought about the moments he spent with her: Her dry jokes, her love of photography, the smile on her face in the morning, those evenings when they would drink together and amuse the other with their impressions. He gulped, trying to take everything in. At that moment, he wanted so bad to just stand there with her, hold her, and give her a proper goodbye. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was his now bruised ego.

Chaplin, the cat, wandered into the living room where this fight was taking place. Despite her inability to speak, she understood the tension between her owner and her owner’s friend and lover. The situation was probably damaged beyond repair, but she tried to help. Walking toward Violet, she nudged her head against Violet’s leg. Violet instantly looked down, understanding her cat’s attempts to comfort her. Looking at the cigarette and then back to Chaplin, she decided to put the cigarette out and picked her up. Violet buried her face in Chaplin’s face and Chaplin purred in response. She let out a ‘meow’, reminding her owner that she needed to fix something.

Raising her head, she looked up to find Tom, who was pulling his jeans up. She released Chaplin and made her way to a fuming Tom like a child who got scolded. Lightly pressing her face on his back, she hugged his waist and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry for being a condescending bitch. You should know that I love you and that I’ll never stop.”

Tom lowered his head to look down at the fragile hands which surrounded him. He understood that this was the end, or something close to it. Going with his heart, he loosened her grip on him and turned to face her. In that moment, he violently pulled her into a bone crushing embrace. Both fought vigorously hard not to cry.

“May I please stay a while longer?” he asked wearily.

“Are you kidding?” she sniffed. “I won’t let you leave me for the rest of the night.”

“And then what happens?”

“Then I’ll leave,” she lamented.

“You’re very good at keeping secrets, darling,” he half-chuckled and half-sobbed.

Sitting on the floor, they refused to let go of the other. They spent the waking hours talking about random things and caressed each other’s face occasionally, even stopping their conversation to kiss. Sex was the last thing on either one’s mind. The room was dark and the night outside was dark. Nothing else was seen or heard by either of them. It was only when she approached; Tom pulled Chaplin closer to him and stroked her affectionately. He was going to miss the times where she would flirt with him in her special way and those mornings when she decided it was okay to sit on his face instead of Violet’s face.

The sun began to illuminate the room from the window. Violet knew that she had to leave for the airport soon. Sleep eluded her and Tom for the entire night, but she could tell that he would go, as well.

“You know, Tom, when you stand up, reality will come back.”

“Reality has a sick way of making its presence known, especially when you least want it.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

XXX

3 years later…

Violet was sitting in her favorite café in Paris, eating a freshly baked croissant and reading a magazine online. The sun was out and Paris was filled with brightness and cheer. Children laughed and ran around the street while other people at the café spoke to each other of their day. The grass looked greener than it had for a long time, and all was perfect. It had been three years since Violet came to live in Paris, and after a few difficult months adjusting, she managed to create a flow in her life. Men came and went, but she never bothered to keep a serious relationship.

Her eye caught something interesting in the entertainment section (which scarcely caught her attention). Lo and behold, she discovered her old friend making new headlines. He had just been in a relationship with an actress and they had apparently called it quits. It talked about how ‘heartbroken’ Tom was, which made Violet cringe in disgust. Tom’s love life was no longer her problem, but to see him be portrayed as ‘desperate and needy’ was ridiculous. However, that was not the reason her eyes widened with shock or why she immediately covered her mouth with her hands. She found out that he was in Paris for the summer to film some sort of spy thriller. Letting out a groan, she shut the laptop, paid her bill, and got the hell out of there.

Without realizing it, she ended up at the Shakespeare and Co. book store, her favorite shop. Nothing felt better to her than to be around books and feel their stories come alive in that shop. Time seemed not to even exist there; that was why she took refuge in it. She was contemplating on buying a new book when she heard it.

When she heard him…

“I never thought, in my entire life, I would get to see you again,” smiled Tom. He looked a little older and more muscular since they last met. There was a patch of stubble around his mouth and his hair was dyed in a reddish-blonde color. She could still see that uncontrollably excited soul bouncing around inside him, and it made her smile.

“Yeah, well. As the French say, ‘C’est la vie’.”

“Parisian life seems to do you good, Vi. You look stunning.” Nobody had called her Vi in such a long time; it sounded disorienting, but sweet.

“I heard about your girlfriend. Tough luck.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d prefer getting to know you again.”

“I’m just as sarcastic and impulsive as I was three years ago. All I’ve learnt is to hold my drink down better.”

“And how’s Chaplin?”

“She’s her same old lazy self.”

“Glad to hear it. Say, would you like to have coffee somewhere and catch up?”

“I’ll fit that into my oh so busy schedule.”

“Ehehehehe, you are too kind. I’ll see you here tomorrow at five, then?”

“It’s a date. Not like a ‘date’ date, but a…I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you, Vi,” he chuckled. Before leaving, he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Oh shit,” she muttered to herself. “What the hell have I got myself into now?”


	2. To Be or Not To Be?

The moment Violet reached Shakespeare and Co., she checked her watch. Tom was notoriously famous for being late, and she doubted his chance of improvement. She barely slept last night; she walked aimlessly around her apartment throughout the day, doing nothing but looking out of the window and drinking the occasional beverage. For her, life worked in a strange way. If she hoped really hard for something to be done, or people to say or do something, they usually did not. Only when she would submit, accept, and even dread her day, it ended up rather well. Now, however, she did not exactly comprehend whether she should fear or anticipate her meeting with Tom after all these years.

Raising her head, she saw a tall figure hurriedly walking in her direction. Upon making eye contact, Tom slowed down and flashed one of his mega-watt smiles. He was wearing those same beaten down brown cowboy boots he used to torture all the time before. His plain white shirt, which fit well on his chest, was accompanied by worn out denim jeans. Approaching her, he engulfed her in a casual embrace, using only one of his firm arms.

“I’m terribly sorry. There was an interviewer and…” he trailed off.

She waved her hand in the air. “No, I get it. My favorite movie star has a very busy schedule.”

“I didn’t know I was your favorite. Am I?” he inquired, feeling rather surprised.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she nodded. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He threw his head back in a fit of laugher; his body flailed and tongue teasingly stuck out. Regaining his composure, he and Violet began walking together. “I trust your judgment on cafés and restaurants. You never liked my taste in food, anyways.”

“Chilli’s, Tom,” she pointed out, a little nauseated. “Your palette needs to be saved before it’s too late.”

 

They made their way to the quaint little café not far from the bookshop. Violet paid no attention when fans stopped Tom to take pictures with him. The girls trembled as they gave Tom their autograph books to sign. A few even looked in Violet’s direction and whispered amongst each other about her relationship with Tom. It was as if she was in high school and somebody found out she had done something overwhelming for a girl of her social status. It made her sick to relive that same adolescent anxiety again. One of the girls asked Tom for a picture and he held it out to Violet, asking her to take a picture of the both of them.

“Sure,” she answered nonchalantly. “Smile.” She showed them the picture and, once satisfied, they thanked Tom and left. Violet feared more would come and stare at them. She was lucky France had less paparazzi compared to the United States or England. That was one of the reasons she tried to avoid the public appearances with Tom. If they were there, people would have already come up with their celebrity nicknames, like ‘Vom’ or ‘Tiolet’. Thinking about these nicknames made her chortle out loud, gaining Tom’s attention. 

 

“What are you snickering about?” Tom asked. 

 

“Nothing in particular,” she smirked. “Are your lady friends coming to join us?” 

 

“Someone’s jealous,” he quipped. 

 

“You can keep you fans, Tom.” 

 

They entered the shop and Violet walked up to the counter. While she ordered in French, Tom studied the coffee shop. It was quiet, with its peaceful music and fragile looking chairs and tables which resembled those like a little girl’s tea party furniture. He chose one of the tables nearest to the windows and Violet joined him with an espresso and a cup of green tea. The corner of Tom’s mouth perked up at the sight of the tea. “Still can’t have coffee?” 

 

“Yeah, coffee beans give me magnificently ugly migraines,” she remarked.

 

“I feel so sorry for you.” 

 

“I make due with tea. It’s better for your system, anyways,” Violet explained. 

 

“So, mademoiselle, how has your French been progressing?” 

 

“Not too bad. I took it in high school and I managed to recall enough to get by.”

 

“I’m glad,” he beamed at her. “You know Vi, I had actually asked Luke to try and find you here. It’s the honest truth; I have missed you.” 

 

Violet shifted in her chair and bit her lower lip. “You know we can’t continue the relationship we had in New York, right? It would be too awkward, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable with it.” 

 

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured.

 

“I appreciate that, Tom.” 

 

“Then let’s change the subject. God, there is nothing like seeing Paris at dawn and dusk. We’ve been shooting some scenes early in the morning and it is breathtaking.” 

 

“It is, especially when you lose a map and just walk around the city.” 

 

“I haven’t gotten enough time to do that this time around. Hell, I barely got to meet you because the schedule is so tight.” 

 

“So, is it like the Marvel movies where you can’t talk about it, or are they more lenient?”

 

“It’s not that secretive, but then again, why give away spoilers and ruin the finished project for my biggest fan?”

 

Violet rolled her eyes and grimaced at Tom. As they continued their banter, Violet habitually switched from topic to topic, none of which had anything in common. Tom laughed at all the right places, asked all the right questions, and anyone who might passed that window would discover how perfectly synched they were with each other. For the first time in a long time, both of them had an effortless conversation without deception or self-consciousness. It was like old times. 

 

Tom’s phone began buzzing, and the table was surrounded the melody of ‘Friday I’m in Love’ by The Cure. Being the gentleman, Tom ignored his phone until Violet urged him to answer. It was obvious by his tone of voice and facial expressions that Luke was on the other end of the phone. Violet shook her head and finished her tea. 

 

“Vi, I’m so sorry. Luke needs to talk to me,” Tom stated. 

 

“No, it’s alright,” she smirked. “You’ve done this before, remember?” 

 

“Oh, right,” he blushed. “But I might need you to help me get there, if you’re not doing anything.” 

 

“Fine, I’ll help.” 

 

“Thank you, darling,” he replied gratefully. “He said he’s meeting me near Notre Dame.” 

 

“That’s not so bad. I think I can get you there.” 

 

When they exited the coffee shop, Tom opened the glass doors for Violet. They took the route which went back to the bookshop and walked onwards to the Pont au Double Bridge. Despite their efforts to keep a substantial space between them, there was a tiny moment when one of Tom’s slender fingers brushed against Violet’s. She felt a spark of lightning travel through her arm and her heart skipped a beat. Those used to be the hands which would hold her at night and which would not hesitate to shake the very fabric of her being. Why?

 

Violet jerked her hand away, and Tom swiftly turned his head away as he pretended to admire the scenery. Fortunately, both were spared the awkward silence as Notre Dame came into their sight, and so did Luke Windsor. Luke had not changed at all. He was still blonde, cheekboned, and smartly dressed. He looked relieved to see Tom in such a short period of time and seemed slightly surprised to see Violet. Of course he had known about Tom’s flings with Violet; he was his publicist, for Christ’s sake. It was because of him that Violet could live a normal, attention-free life, and she was tremendously thankful for it, though she would never admit it to him. 

 

“Luke!” she exclaimed, giving him a hug. “It’s been ages. Have you finally grown into your big boy publisher pants?” 

 

“Hahahaha. I’ve missed you too, Violet,” he retorted. “Still funny as ever.” 

 

“Oh, c’mon, Luke. I’m happy for you. Really, I am.” 

 

“No, no, I believe you,” he teased. “And I appreciate you bringing him here.” 

 

Offended, Tom opened his mouth to argue on his own behalf. “I am fully capable of finding my way around.” 

 

Violet and Luke simultaneously laughed at him. Tom frowned and stared at them as they had their fun. Finally, Luke was able to catch his breath enough to ask Violet, “So, has Tom told you anything about the new film?” 

 

“No, he was very elusive about it.” 

 

“So he hasn’t told you about Samantha yet?” 

 

Luke had officially caught her attention. Raising an eyebrow at him, she asked, “Who’s Samantha?”

 

“She is Tom’s costar,” Luke responded. “She has been flirting with Tom and her manager has asked me several times to let them date for publicity, which I completely refused.” 

 

Despite the strange twitch in her heart, Violet’s facial expression stayed neutral. She did not need to be affected in any way, whatsoever. Tom was a grown up and she kept telling herself he would do what he thought was right. Still, there was that nagging feeling. Impulsively, she chuckled and lightly punched Tom on the arm. “Ladies can’t stay away from you, can they?”

 

Tom looked at the pavement sheepishly without saying a word. He put his hands in his jeans pockets, an indication Violet had learnt as a sign of unease. Sighing, Violet held his face in her hand and adjusted his head to meet her gaze. “Hey, puppy dog eyes. You don’t have worry. I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

 

Seeing the corner of his mouth perk up a little, she put on her best ‘sensei’ voice. “We make sacred pact. I promise teach the female ways to you, you promise learn. I say, you do, no questions.” 

 

“Did you get that from The Karate Kid?” 

 

“Maybe,” she shrugged. 

 

“But it helped.” 

 

“Any time, sweetheart.” 

They were so close, but alas, that would have been too easy. Violet was so caught in his gaze they she did not notice the figure waving at her and coming in her direction. He was strongly built with cropped, ginger hair and a clean shave. Wearing his running shorts, he called out her name one more time. Violet snapped her head in his direction and her eyes instantly widened in shock. She anxiously bit her lower lip as he approached her. 

 

“Violet,” rejoiced the man; his accent noticeably French, but thinner than some. “Don’t you look lovely?” 

 

“Thanks, Matt.” She flushed. “I didn’t know you ran here.” 

 

“I don’t do it often,” he admitted. “But the evening was going to be so beautiful and I couldn’t help it.”

 

Remembering the two men already standing with her, Violet introduced them. “Matthieu, this is my friend Tom Hiddleston and his publicist Luke Windsor. Tom, Luke, this is Matthieu St. Marks and he’s a good friend of mine.” 

 

Tom and Luke greeted him with casual, yet somewhat insincere nods, earning a glare from Violet. However, Matthieu paid no heed to their gesture. “Tom, I’m a big fan of Only Lovers Left Alive. I think you did a marvelous job.”

 

“Thanks,” Tom muttered. “Luke, don’t we have somewhere to be?” 

 

“Oh yeah, you have a dinner to attend in a few hours. I think we‘d better get going.”

 

“Right,” Tom acknowledged. “Thanks for today, Vi. And Matthieu, it was nice meeting you.”

 

“Wait,” Violet called. She took a pen from Luke and scribbled a few numbers on Luke’s hand. “I forgot to give you my number, in case you need anything.” 

 

“I’ll keep in touch, Vi. Goodbye.” And with that, he and Luke were off to the direction of Tom’s hotel. Violet could only wave back at them. 

 

Matthieu put a comforting arm around Violet’s shoulder. “He appears to be a very old friend of yours.” 

 

“Yeah, we have a lot history.” 

 

“You’ve never mentioned him before.” 

 

“That’s because things ended kind of abruptly between us,” she answered sadly, recalling the harsh words she exchanged with him the night before she left. 

 

“You know what? I say we should have a party at my place. Invite your friend and spend some time with him again.” 

 

“I don’t know, Matt,” she admitted. “He said he was pretty busy.” 

 

“I can pull a few strings, and maybe I could even invite the cast and crew.” 

 

“You just need a reason to drink and party with people, don’t you?” 

 

“You caught me,” he chuckled. “It’ll be great, Violet. Trust me.” 

 

“Will it?” she mused. “That is the question.”


	3. Pictures of You

Getting out of her car, Violet’s phone rang. She furrowed her brow as she tried to identify the unknown number. “Bonjour.”

 

“Euh, Pardon Mademoiselle. I wes ‘oping two buy e’ painting,” answered Tom in his best fake French accent.

 

“Right,” she giggled. “Who exactly is speaking?”

 

“Euh…my name izz Claude…Chevrolet, I am an art and baguette coh-lector.”

 

“‘Claude Chevrolet’? ‘Baguette collector’? Tom, sometimes I worry about your sanity more than my own.”

 

“Ehehehe, you caught me. I hope I didn’t disturb you during your work hours.”

 

“No, I just finished a meeting with my client and I am heading home.”

 

“Which client? Mathieu?” teased Tom.

 

Violet could feel her lunch coming back up her throat. “Tom, I don’t spend every waking hour with Matt.”

 

“Why not? The man’s built like a machine and it looks like he really likes you.”

 

“Someone’s jealous,” she retorted, using the same tone as he did when they last met a few days ago. 

 

“You can keep your admirer,” he quipped back. “But I hope he’s invited you, too.”

 

“Where would he invite me?”

 

“Well, turns out, he’s actually good friends with one of the producers, and the entire cast was invited to his home for drinks on Friday night.”

 

How very convenient, she thought. “Is everything else alright?”

 

“Everything else is going great. I was wondering whether you’d heard about it.”

 

“I’ll talk to him today.”

 

“It won’t be fun without you. Tell you what, we could forget the party and do something together instead.”

 

“Tom…” 

 

“As friends, Vi.”

 

“That sounds better.”

 

“I’ll text you the deets,” he joked.

 

Violet rolled her eyes. “Tom, you’re unbelievable.”

 

“Aye k’noow. Au reviour, mon ami.” 

 

Smiling, she rolled his eyes as the call dropped. “Au reviour, you lunatic.” 

 

Despite the relief of going home early, she had little else to do but sign paperwork and keep Chaplin company. With a sigh, she propped herself up on the couch and picked up a nearby magazine she had bought the other day. The corner of her mouth perked up when she saw Tom’s interview. It was a few weeks old, just before he left London for Paris.  
Chaplin jumped on the sofa, intending to sit on Violet’s lap. Nuzzling against her abdomen, the cat tried to find a suitable sitting position on her owner’s lap. The minute she saw Tom’s face on the page, her tail swished from side to side and she spread herself over the entire page, disallowing Violet to continue reading. Smiling, she shook her head from side to side. “You just want him for yourself, don’t you?”

 

After licking her paws clean for a great deal of time, she finally looked up at Violet. Chaplin let out a noise which implied something along the lines of, “Since he’s of no interest to you, I could give it a shot. I tolerate you and that incessant racket you call music; I deserve something.”

 

“I’ll have you know, people tell me I have an impeccable taste.”

 

“I’m not people. Now, feed me.”

 

Memories flooded her mind as she stared at those intense eyes staring right back at her. She recalled one time when Tom came over to her apartment in New York. An image of him wearing a plaid shirt - red, white and blue - along with his favorite leather jeans and a somewhat aroused face flashed in front of her eyes.

 

“Is that all you’re wearing?” he playfully asked, looking at her large college sweatshirt. She could see by the fire in his eyes that he liked what he saw.

 

“So what? You’re the one who always opens the door in nothing but a towel.” She winked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

 

“Ehehehe, I know,” he replied, moving closer to kiss both her cheeks softly. When the kitten version of Chaplin approached to climb on his feet, he picked her up and scratched below her chin. She attempted to grab his colossal hand in between her tiny paws and tried to nibble on his thumb. Tom could not help but smile at the energetic little thing with baby blue eyes and a silky smooth fur coat that was wriggling in his arms. “And how are you today, darling?”

 

“Let her down,” commanded Violet. “She’s spoiled enough as it is.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” he remarked, lowering the cat down. It was only when she got a proper look at him, she noticed his worn out, scruffy face. She could sense something troubling him when he put his hands in his pockets and stared out at the window. There were times such as these when she was glad she was not famous. Simultaneously, she hated seeing Tom look so…tired. Fame was a transparent glass box where, no matter how broken, bruised, or beaten you were on the inside, you were inclined to put up a face for the world. All she could do for her friend was to momentarily distract him; cheer him up. But, at that moment, she felt a strong presence of melancholy behind Tom’s upbeat exterior.

 

Folding her arms, she stared at him. “Tell me what happened.”

 

Meeting her gaze, Tom tried his best to deny it. “Nothing happened; I just…wanted to see you.”

 

“You’re a better actor than that, Tom. I can see something bugging you.”

 

“I’m not…I’m just a little tired.”

 

Trying to comfort him, she threw her arms around his neck to hold him close. Her head fit into the hollow of his neck and she felt his breathing synchronize with her own. She had never been this comfortable with anyone else; this sort of intimacy was disorienting with a twinge of the sweetest sensation she could comprehend. Leaning to his ear, she whispered, “It’s okay to feel like this sometimes.”

 

“Then why does it feel like I’m giving in?”

 

“Because you’re too busy reading out what other people write instead of writing your own words.”

 

“No one will listen,”

 

Tightening her grip on him, she inched him closer until personal space became a joke. Her lips brushed against his, and with all the confidence of the world, she told him, “I’ll always listen.”  
She remembered an intense make out session afterwards, but refused to revisit those moments. They were from another era, or an alternate universe where she felt no shame in sleeping with her friends. It never occurred to her to proceed with caution; she never realized she would lose the person when things got too complicated. That was her problem; she took things for granted.

 

What she chose to ignore was, somewhere in the same city, that same friend was thinking about her. It was impervious to her that Tom lost an equal amount of sleep while thinking about her. She did not know that, in Tom’s eyes, every woman around him appeared to possess her face. He did not want to admit the only reason he would survive an on-screen kiss with Samantha was that he imagined Violet’s lips instead of hers. It might have been bizarre for Samantha, because he maneuvered the kiss according to Violet, and was seconds away from even moaning out her name, too.

 

She completely banished the thought of him wanting her just as much, especially after all these years.

 

Only the sound of her phone brought her back to her senses. She checked, and saw a text message from Matt.  
“Hey, pretty lady. After minutes of deliberation, I decided to hold my party at my place. Do you think I might expect the presence of an insanely beautiful woman such as yourself on Friday night? And don’t worry; I’ve invited your movie friends too. Tell me if you can make it.”

 

In the end, she decided to go. It never hurt to have a drink or two, and since Tom could make it as well, they would meet again. Why am I looking forward to seeing him?

Forgetting the thought had ever occurred to her, she immediately texted him back, saying,

“Consider me there. You know what I like.”

 

She got up to go to the kitchen, where the already famished Chaplin stood waiting for her. While taking out the cat food, she contemplated her outfit for Friday night.

 

“And…Cut!” declared the director. “Great job today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

 

Tom let out a sigh of relief as he made way to his trailer to change. He was sure there would be fans waiting outside, but he did not feel like meeting them tonight. After a quick change, he called his driver, requesting him to get the car ready at the back of the film set. Everything was going according to plan, until he met Samantha on his way to the car park. Standing at 5’10, she had her platinum blonde hair in an elegant ponytail; she stopped him by holding his wrist.  
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she inquired.

 

“I wanted to go to sleep early tonight,” he answered, squirming his wrist out of her hand.

 

“Really?” she smirked. “Are you sure you’re not going to see her?”

 

“I have no idea who you’re taking about.”

 

“Get your head out of your ass, Tom. When you kissed me on set, you were thinking about someone else.”

 

“Samantha, I’m not lying,” he groaned. “I just want to relax.”

 

Irked, Samantha placed her hands on her hips and glared at him as he walked passed her. “Why don’t you just go out with me?”

 

“I’ve told you a million times, I just got out of a relationship and I’m really not interested.”

 

As he sat in the car, he was sure he heard her call out, “You’d be interested if I were her!”

 

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked out of the car as the set disappeared behind him. Even if he wanted to go and see Violet, he had no idea where she lived. If ever things went back to the way they were before, he would make sure never to end them the same way. He thought about Violet then and Violet now. Her chestnut hair was shorter and shoulder length now, and she looked to be in healthier shape. But her gaze and those plump, pink lips were the same as before. He wondered if he had changed in her eyes, and even debated on asking her out. Maybe I went about it in a wrong way the first time. I could just ask her; go see a movie or have dinner with her. Why didn’t I do that the first time?

 

Sleeping together, at the time, registered as ‘acceptable’ to both parties, but the whole idea of a relationship, with responsibilities and commitment, was something they both were not ready to handle. They were at the peak of life and their careers, and he was not ready to give that up then. Now, after his failed relationship with Mia, he understood that he needed to be more flexible about things. Ever since his parent’s divorce, he believed love to exist, but not to last.

 

In a last resort to lift his spirits, he leaned back and turned on his iPod. The very first song that filled his ears was ‘Pictures of You’ by The Cure. At first, he wanted to switch to the next song; some more upbeat and happy. But he began paying attention to the lyrics and he chose to leave it. Once, he read about the fire in Robert Smith’s house, which inspired the song. He tried to put himself in Robert’s shoes; he tried to picture a house completely burnt to crisp and the only thing left intact was a picture of the woman he loved. Going through all the women he had had relationships with, the only woman he saw on those imaginary black and white pictures was Violet.

 

“Violet,” he smiled to himself. “It’ll always be you.”

 

It did not cross his mind that somewhere, in the same city, she was thinking about him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was inspired by ‘Pictures of You’ by the Cure. Also, I mean no offense to my french readers in the beginning.


	4. I Know You Love Me, Tell Me How Much

Fully dolled up in a black and blue cocktail dress and her favorite pumps, Violet rang the doorbell. As soon as it opened, she was met by the loud, upbeat thumping of music. Matthieu welcomed her in with a jubilant smile and a strong embrace. She hugged him back warmly and kissed his cheek.

 

“Look at you!” he exclaimed in awe. “You’ve never looked more magnifique.”

 

“Merci,” she answered, blushing.

 

“Come in, come in.”

 

Matt ushered her into his lavish home, which was filled to the brim with guests of all shapes, colors, and animations. She knew Matt had a knack for planning the best parties, and that rang true more than ever with this one. There was a bar next to the pool outside, with guests dancing and drinking together.

Violet was fascinated by the people who came to these parties; they were always strange and colorful, and Matt’s parties were one of the most efficient places for business. But lately, he had sternly warned her not to talk about work when she came to his house. “You need to stop thinking about work all the time, Violet. It’s too depressing.”

 

Violet peered around, hoping to find Tom amongst any one of the faces. Matthieu noticed this and, putting his arm around her shoulder, told her, “Your friend’s coming soon. Don’t worry about it, darling.”

 

“Oh,” she mouthed. “Was it that obvious?”

 

“Nooo,” he joked dryly. “I just have an ability to understand the female mind.”

 

“You’re a horrible actor,” she remarked. “Can we go and get those drinks, instead?”

 

“Now you’re talking.”

 

Strolling towards the bar, they both greeted every guest who walked up to them. There were times when Violet would feel Matt’s arm secretly trying to hold her waist, giving the impression to others that they were dating; she was unsure if she was comfortable with that. Matt was a friend and everything, but he was nothing more, therefore her brain constantly reminded her to loosen up. At the bar, Matt introduced her to a couple; the man appeared to be in his late 40’s with heavy eye bags, which must have come from many sleepless nights, and a beautiful black woman with smooth caramel-like skin and a hauntingly beautiful gaze.

 

“Violet, this is George and Yvonne. George is a wine critic who has a real talent for painting, and Yvonne works as assistant editor for Vogue France.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” beamed Violet, shaking both their hands.

 

“So, you are the Violet he talks about,” he answered, his wrinkled skin in creases. “The art dealer, no?”

 

“The art dealer, yes. I’d love to see your work sometime, I bet it’s tremendous.”

 

“As much as I would like that, I hold my art very close to my heart, and I’m not good at sharing it with others.”

 

“But that’s alright. I can’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”

 

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Speaking of things I do not wish to do, Matt, I wish to speak to you about a dilemma in which I need your help.”

 

“Sure. Ladies, if you excuse us.”

 

Matt and George laughed loudly and slapped each other on the back as they walked into the house, leaving Violet and Yvonne to chat. To Violet’s surprise, conversing with Yvonne felt effortless; she felt as if she was talking to an old friend after a long time. They exchanged numbers and promised to meet again sometime.

 

“So, how long have you and George been together?”

 

“Let’s see…about a year.”

 

“Wow, hats off to you for making it through a whole year.”

 

“Tell me about it. These days, relationships are taken for granted. Sometimes George can be such a pig, and all I want to do is pack up and leave. But then he does something and I go back to being a fool in love.”

 

“I know how that feels.”

 

“With you and Mattieu?”

 

“Oh, no, Matt and I are friends. There was someone else.”

 

“And where has that someone else left you?”

 

Violet looked down at her drink for some time and replied, “I don’t think he ever left.”

 

Yvonne smiled at Violet kindly and they resumed their meaningless chit chat. After some time, there was murmuring amongst the other guests; apparently someone important had arrived. Giggling, the girls looked around to catch a glimpse of the celebrities. From the crowd, Violet could spot Tom and Luke chatting with George and Matt. Tom looked around the poolside, laughing and beaming, but when he caught sight of Violet’s face, his gaze hung there for a brief moment. His mouth opened a little and his eyes stared at her in pure awe, making Violet smile. Yvonne watched their wordless exchange and chuckled.

 

“So, that’s him,” she stated. “The one who never left. Go on, go talk to him.”

 

Before she made her move, she could see Tom coming towards her. They met halfway with a lingering embrace. Violet broke it, becoming conscious of the people staring at them.

 

“I’m glad you came.”

 

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to miss it. A friend told me it was going to be great, and I’m not disappointed at all.”

 

Violet introduced Tom and Luke to Yvonne, and together, they struck a conversation about Paris and fashion. The party became easy to digest, and all four of them laughed and listened. Even George joined them to give them a lecture on wine tasting for beginners. Every so often, Violet and Tom would exchange glances with each other and laugh together at their private jokes. Tom knew Violet had an immature sense of humor sometimes and automatically snickered at her reactions.

 

However, their discussion was cut short when they were interrupted by a tall, gorgeous woman who came to rear Tom away to meet some people inside. She introduced herself as Samantha Gold, Tom’s costar. Samantha eyed Violet skeptically, but kept her cards close to her chest. After a short conversation, she begged Tom to come inside. With a failed attempt to protest, Tom and Luke were suddenly whisked away to be ‘famous’, leaving the remaining three alone to speak amongst themselves.

 

“Actors,” George scoffed. “They’re such divas.”

 

“You’re not any better, my love,” quipped Yvonne.

 

“And yet, you still love me,” he lilted, kissing her hand.

 

Meanwhile, Matt appeared and took hold of Violet’s hand. Judging by his gestures, he must have had quite a few drinks. He begged Violet to come inside to see something he had been working on. She could smell the scent of alcohol on his breath and cringed at the effect it had on her nose. But, in the end, she yielded to his request and they went towards his office.  
The office, unlike the party outside, was empty and immaculate. Matt’s books were neatly shelved and all the papers were in their proper drawers. Leaving Violet to browse through his CD collection, he searched for something.

Victorious, he took out a painting of a Parisian street and smiled, both in pride of his work and triumph of actually locating the picture himself. “Voilà, what do you think?”

 

Tilting her head, Violet carefully studied the picture. The picture seemed to be painted clumsily, and the shadows were in the wrong places. She understood that art was art and every artist was entitled to their interpretations, but her gut was informing her of the slim chances this painting had to be sold. This was the harder part of her job, but she had grown used to it, what with her boss sending her to reject the artists for her. Now, the only question remaining was how she could turn him down gently.

 

“Umm…it’s nice, Matt. It’s got a few good features,” she remarked. “It’s just that the gallery hasn’t been taking things like these anymore. Honestly speaking, they’ve gone out of trend.”

 

Looking at the picture, Matt pondered and put it down. “You’re right; I don’t think it’ll work. It’s entirely my muse’s fault.”

 

“Oh?” she asked, curious to find out ‘said muse’. “And who or what exactly is ‘your muse’?”

 

“She’s a stubborn one; she never listens and I cannot be inspired because she drives me insane.”

 

“I need a name, Matt.”

 

Matt inched towards her and locked his arms around her. He gazed at her with sadness in his eyes, a gun yearning for the trigger and finally finding it. “It’s you, Violet. I need you. You have to give me a chance.”

 

Violet tried to set herself free from his grasp, but his arms were too strong to overcome. He was breathing down on her neck and pushed himself closer to her. She was revolted by this side of him. “Matt, you’re drunk and you’re doing something you’re going to regret.”

 

“I’ll never regret fighting for you.” He leaned down and forced his lips towards Violet’s face. Violet struggled to free herself and shook her head profusely to avoid him. Using her hands, she tried to push him away. “Matt, let me go!”

 

In anger, Matt held her face tightly in his hands, crushing her bones. Frozen, her face went pale and she became overpowered by fear. She called out for help, praying someone was on the other side of the door to answer her call.

 

The door burst open and Tom ran towards them; his face fumed when he saw Violet in Matt’s painful hold. He was looking around for her when he heard her voice calling out for help from behind the door. From that moment, all his senses numbed and the veins were popping out of his neck. Clenching his jaw, he tightened his fist and commanded slowly and angrily, “Let. Her. Go. Matt.”

 

“Fuck off,” he replied, irritated by this sudden interruption.

 

“T-Tom,” she stammered. “Help.”

 

Without another word, Tom threw a punch into Matt’s face. All that physical training helped him, for Matt let go of Violet’s face and clutched his jaw in pain, yelling obscenities at Tom. A red liquid trickled down Matt’s nose and he lost his balance.

 

Quickly, Tom took hold of Violet and stroked her head. “Did he hurt you?”

 

Violet was too stunned by the entire situation to give a response. She heard the question repeat itself in her ear and she buried her face in his shoulders, shaking her head slowly. Tom seized her tighter and stared him down like a predator would do to his opponent. “If you ever lay one fucking on finger on her again, you’re dead. Do you understand?”

 

Matt staggered up and gave a feeble attempt at hitting Tom’s face, which he missed. Tom kept hold of Violet and quickly ran out of the office room. Violet was dizzy from the sudden movements and jerks which mixed with the song in the background. She clutched her head in pain and moaned out a noise which was supposed to sound like “take me home”. A few people noticed them, but they were too busy dancing to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation.

 

Tom quickly called Luke over and gave him Violet’s car keys. They made a swift exit out of the party, Luke in front and Tom holding on to Violet behind him. He continued to ask small ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions until Violet groaned at him to stop. Painfully, she pointed towards her car in the driveway. Tom opened the car door and gently lowered Violet in the backseat.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Vi. I’ve got you, I promise.”

 

The sound of his words soothed her and, closing her eyes, she shifted around to make herself comfortable. Tom got into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. It immediately occurred to him that he did not know exactly where Violet lived in Paris. Luke turned around to lightly nudge Violet, asking her for her address. Violet muttered an obscenity and told them about the GPS in her dashboard. Luke took it out and toyed with it until he managed to press the home button. “I’m so glad Violet keeps this in English.”

 

Thanks to the GPS, they arrived at their destination without trouble. Quietly, Tom got out of the car and picked Violet up in his arms. He did not want to wake her; she had been through enough. Her disheveled hair fell in front of her face, hiding her smudged makeup. Luke kept an eye out for anyone who could possibly recognize them; this would raise a lot of unnecessary chaos if someone found out. 

 

Taking the keys from Violet’s bag, Luke opened the door for Tom, who tried to get Violet in without hitting her head. Once they entered, they saw Chaplin on Violet’s sofa, looking at them. She ran up to Tom and ran around his feet, nudging his ankles and purring loudly.

 

“Hello, daring. It’s been so long and I’ve missed you terribly,” he whispered quickly. “But now’s not really a good time. I’ll come back, okay?”

 

With a confused look, Chaplin slowly moved away from Tom. He walked into what appeared to be her bedroom. Putting her down, he tried to unzip her dress, but stopped when he saw Luke in the doorway. Luke’s cheeks turned bright red when he understood what Tom was trying to do, and he slowly backed away from the room, closing the door behind him. Tom turned his attention back to Violet. Maybe it was not the best idea to look at her right now, but he could not tear his eyes away from her. Her arms and legs were beautifully tanned and toned under the black under garments. A voice at the back of his mind was begging him to kiss her, but he had learnt self restraint a long time ago, and his gut was telling him to banish the thought.  
With a weak smile, he took the dress off and hung it back in her closet. He covered the sheets over her and tucked her in.

Violet’s mouth formed a small, almost unrecognizable smile as she mumbled out his name. Brushing the hair from her face, he leaned down to kiss her temple, resting his lips for some time. He got a glass of water, an aspirin, and a note saying:

 

“Call me when you wake up – Tom.”

 

After a quick petting session with Chaplin, Tom and Luke left her home. Luke had already called someone to pick them up and take them to the hotel. They left the place as discreetly as they came. Sitting in the car, Tom never dropped his gaze from Violet’s window. The image of Matt grabbing Violet’s face made him livid. He began to wish he had done more damage to him, but that would not have been possible with the amount of people at the party. Luke’s voice penetrated his thoughts, and Tom faced him with a puzzled expression.

 

“Sorry, man, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

 

“I said you have to go back to Matt and sort this out before things spiral out of our control.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it would be necessary.”

 

“You still care about her, don’t you?”

 

“She was a friend in trouble; I couldn’t let her suffer.”

 

Luke let out a long sigh. “Tell you what, since you don’t need to film anything tomorrow, I can get you out of your commitments so that you can be with Violet; just keep it secret.”

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

“Tom, you’re my friend and my client. It won’t do anyone any good if you’re unfocused. And if Violet is what it takes to get you back on track…then by all means, go for it.”

 

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

 

Despite all the ups and downs, Tom still managed to get back to his room and sleep with a smile on his face; he would get his second chance, and he promised himself to do it right this time.


	5. The Dodo's Conundrum

In the midst of hazy dreams and faint consciousness, Violet gradually opened her eyelids to be blinded by the morning sun. She found Chaplin snoozing on the empty side of the bed, and stroked her affectionately. Her alarm clock said it was 9:10 in the morning, but to her surprise, she found a tablet, a glass of water, and a sticky note next to it. Images of last night swirled around her like a circus. She recalled the stench of Matt’s alcohol drenched breath, and Tom’s protective hold. Looking under the covers, she discovered she was only in her undergarments. Logic and memory resonated through her mind; Tom must have driven her home and took her clothes off for her. Couldn’t resist a peek, she smirked to herself.

Taking the medicine, she squinted while reading Tom’s note. His scrawl remained as messy as she remembered from countless sticky notes he wrote her in the past. It was sweet of him to care so much, especially after the month of Sundays they spent without even speaking to each other. She got up and, looking out, dialed his number. There was a pause, followed by Tom’s cheerful, “Hello.”

 

“Hey, it’s me.”

 

“Hey, you! How are you feeling?”

 

“I feel much better,” she answered. “Thank you, by the way. For everything.”

 

“You’re my friend, Vi. You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

 

“Well, this whole ‘damsel-in-distress’ scenario might have taken feminism a few steps, but you deserve something in return.”

 

“Ehehehe, what exactly do you have in mind?”

 

“You could come over and we could decide together.”

 

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.”

 

Violet decided to freshen up a little before Tom arrived, maybe pick a few things up. She took the tangles out of her hair and brushed her teeth. She scrubbed her face of last night’s make up and wore a plain white shirt with jeans. Usually her Saturdays began an hour later and she did not make much of an effort. But this time, she wanted to prove to Tom that she no longer lived like a teenager, at least to his face.

 

A few minutes later, the bell rang, and Violet opened the door be greeted by Tom and his massive smile. “Morning, bright eyes.”

 

“Morning,” she replied happily. With a giggle, Violet opened her arms wide to give him a pulverizing bear hug, rocking him back ad forth. Tom enthusiastically returned the embrace and, without letting go, they stepped inside together. Breaking away slowly, he took in the features of the living room: the wood flooring, the photographs Violet framed, the paint-less brick walls and Chaplin’s scratching post in the corner.

 

“I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen you home,” he remarked. “I didn’t pay attention last night. It’s smaller than your apartment in New York.”

 

“It is,” she admitted. “But I don’t need that much space; this is much cozier.”

 

“That was your favorite word, wasn’t it?” he asked shyly. “Cozy.”

 

“Yeah, it is, but I told you that a long time ago and you still remember.”

 

“Meeting you again has brought a few memories.”

 

“Tell me about,” she mumbled. “Say, have you had breakfast yet?”

 

“Umm…would you consider a cup of coffee and a banana breakfast?”

 

Violet shook her head, unsatisfied. “Nope. How would you feel about crepes?”

 

“I haven’t had those in a while,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

 

“Then I say you and I have crepes,” she winked. “And you’re helping me.”

 

“You’re the boss, Vi.”

 

She motioned to the kitchen. “Come then, minion.”

 

Entering the kitchen, Violet attached her iPod to the loudspeakers until she found ‘Australia’ by The Shins and turned up the volume. As soon as she heard the melody, she did a little dance, humming as she went along. Grimacing, Tom folded his arms and watched his friend dance around so cheerfully. After a bit of fumbling around, she handed Tom an old, green apron with ‘License to Grill’ on it. Raising an eyebrow, Tom stared it quizzically. “You have got to be kidding me.”

 

“I’m a sucker for puns,” she shrugged.

 

Soon, the counter was filled with utensils and broken egg shells. Tom had proved to be immensely cooperative; he read the recipe thoroughly and used his ‘manly’ muscles to stir the batter. He even made forceful expressions as he whisked to make her giggle, which was immensely successful. As per their deal, if Violet handed him the ingredients to stir, she would volunteer to cook the crepes.

 

She ordered him to slice two apples while she flipped the crepes and placed them on two separate plates. They constantly joked around with each other; each spoke of their various experiences. Tom spoke about his trip to Africa and his upcoming projects. Violet told him about various painters she had come across, and the trips she took around Europe. She also talked about how she quit smoking.

 

“Is that so?” he asked. “I’m proud of you, darling.”

 

“It was actually because of Matt,” she confessed sheepishly. “He took me to an exhibition where they showcased human organs. Behind one glass box, I saw a smoker’s lungs and I was horrified; I couldn’t sleep that night. Since I couldn’t bear to go on smoking, knowing the damage it was doing, I quit.”

 

Tom’s face instantly became serious. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Matt hasn’t tried to call you yet, has he?”

 

Thinking for a moment, Violet shook her head. “I didn’t get any calls from him yet.”

 

“You know you shouldn’t see him for a while, right?”

 

Violet crossed her arms and frowned at him. She could not believe he had said that so blatantly to her face. “I’m not a child, Tom. You can’t tell me who to see and who not to see.”

 

“Violet, he tried to come on to you.”

 

“People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Give him a chance; you do know you have to talk to him. There’s no way an actor like you can throw a punch at someone, and not have the news reporters hounding you around.”

 

Tom slowly nodded in agreement, and talked little afterwards. Every now and then, he would nod or ‘hmm’ to what Violet would say. By now, she understood that Tom was pondering heavily; mapping out his next moves. It was disturbing how much Tom appeared to remind Violet of Loki. Like others, she was greatly impressed by Tom’s portrayal of Loki, but Loki was not the one she wanted to befriend. So these little moments when Tom stayed quiet and had a serious expression alarmed her.

 

She left the stove to approach him and rub his back soothingly, hoping to return him to his original, gleeful, Tom-like state. Turning to face her, his face was expressionless. The air thinned around them, and words were unable to fill that void. Violet’s hands trailed down from his back to his arms and to his palms. For a brief moment, their fingertips played with each other, until they pulled away. Both their cheeks flushed with embarrassment, neither unaware of a way out of this situation.

 

Fortunately for both, Chaplin snapped them out of their stupor with a loud and clear ‘meow’- a ‘meow’ of attention. Violet’s head snapped in her direction and obediently, she took the cat food out of a cabinet. Tom could not tear his eyes away from the sight of Violet bending down to put the cat food in Chaplin’s bowl. Inside, his organs were doing summersaults; this had not been as easy as he anticipated at first, and it all seemed to play before him in slow motion. Closing his eyes at once, he tried to forget about his racing heartbeats until Violet had cooked the last of the crepes.

 

Sighing loudly, she placed both plates on the table and turned her attention towards Tom. “Bring the fruits here.”

 

Without protest, Tom brought the fruits up to the table, sitting down across Violet. “What are you going to do?”

 

She smirked at him. “Just watch me.”

 

With swift movements, she drizzled cinnamon on the plates, and rolled the flat crepes together in a sticky concoction of cinnamon and syrup. To finish it off, she put the sliced apples on the side. Triumphantly, she pushed one plate to his direction. “If you don’t like it, I’ll pay for all your dinner tabs for the next year.”

 

Tom perked up at her promise. “Being cocky, are we?”

 

“This is what quiet confidence looks like.”

 

“Challenge accepted.”

 

The moment he put the first bite in his mouth, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped at lightening speed. He had never tasted anything that delicious in a long while, and he was not one to be greedy, but he wanted to go down on his knees and beg for more.

 

To Violet, his amazement was priceless. She quickly took her phone out of her pocket and took a picture, hysterically laughing at his stupefied gaze. “Oh my God, Tom.”

 

“Can you please cook me these for breakfast for…I don’t know…maybe the rest of my life?”

 

“I’m just glad you’re satisfied. I’m sorry about those awful remarks earlier; I didn’t mean them.”

 

“Apology accepted,” he moaned, taking another bite.

 

“Stop making those noises,” she demanded.

 

And, with that, the thin air vanished, replacing itself with comfort and joy. Violet showed Tom the picture she took and threatened to post it on Tumblr. “They’ll go crazy, Tom; they can’t get enough of you.”

 

“You’re insane, d’you know that?”

 

“It would be a lie to say otherwise.”

 

Tom picked up Chaplin and nuzzled his face into her neck, whispering into her ears, “I think you should just live with me instead of this nut job, Chaplin. What do you say, darling?”

 

Chaplin cuddled back, purring loudly in response to Tom’s proposition. Violet watched this scene unfold in front of her, rolling her eyes continuously. “Do you two need to be left alone?”

 

“Ehehehe, you can stay. By the way, I never got to ask, why did you name her ‘Chaplin’?

 

“Well, she was a present from my father. He wanted me to have a roommate who couldn’t possibly trick me into doing anything I shouldn’t. I didn’t appreciate it at first, but she grew on me. Problem was, I couldn’t think of a decent name; all the things which came to mind were cliché and tacky. One day, I was watching ‘Chaplin’, the movie with Robert Downey Jr., and somehow, the name just stuck.”

 

“The best things usually come out spontaneously,” Tom commented.

"And the occasional bad thing."

 

Tom and Violet were disturbed by Tom’s ringing cellphone. When he picked it up and began talking, Violet could instantly tell Luke needed him. She offered to drive him to where he needed to be, but Tom politely declined and asked Luke to send a car.

 

“God, I’m so sorry, Vi.”

 

“After all those times you needed to leave me to go to work, do you not expect me to be immune to it by now?”

 

“It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

 

“We’ve dealt with it before, and we’ll just have to do it again.”

 

A short while later, a car parked outside Violet’s house -Tom’s car. Violet walked him to the door and gave him one last hug.

“Thank you for this morning.”

 

“Thank you…for everything.”

 

Awkwardly chuckling, they gave each other a kiss on the cheek. Although it was meant to be casual, Tom and Violet could not control the gush of red showing on their cheeks. Tom said goodbye and jumped into the black car. Soon, it drove away from Violet’s line of vision, leaving her all alone in her home. Returning to the kitchen to clean up the mess on the table, she caught sight of her phone vibrating furiously on the table –someone sent her a message. She thought it was probably Tom making some comment about the crepes. But to her surprise and shock, it was from Matt. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone to view the message.

 

“Violet, I’m so tremendously sorry about what I did to you last night. I don’t blame your friend for kicking my ass (he packs quite a punch); I would have done the same. Please, can we talk this out like adults? I swear, I will never lose my cool like that again. Please, give me another chance. Please.”

 

Violet rubbed her temples together as she weighed the pros and cons. In the end, she decided to spend the day at home, and tomorrow, she would have to pay a visit to Matt’s place, not only for their friendship, but also Tom’s reputation.


	6. The Aftermath

“Just take a deep breath, Violet. It’ll be over before you know it,” she chanted to herself.

She walked up to Matt’s door and, with a deep breath, knocked on the door. The place had an odd, disserted vibe to it when there wasn’t a party. Perhaps, to Violet, it was the sheer awkwardness of the situation which changed the way she looked at things; she had never needed to step out of her comfort zone with Matt. After three years of that comfort, she could not believe the mess she created for herself in her love life. First Tom, now Matt.

Violet had spent the previous evening pacing, and trying to rehearse her lines to thin air. Unfortunately, thin air had a way of making you feel at ease too quickly. She was paralyzed when she saw Matt’s face, and, she completely forgot her lines. His face was clearly battered, his nose was bruised to a deep purple, and there were swollen, red patches beneath the right eye. Matt was no weakling, Violet knew that. However, paying attention to the sores, Violet noticed how strong Tom must have become, or how angry he must have been with Matt, to leave such an impression on his face. Deep inside, she could not help but feel empathy for Matt. There was a sad, injured-puppy-who-just-got-kicked look in his eyes and the corners of his mouth, making her wonder whose side she was on.

  
“Hey, pretty lady,” he mumbled meekly.

“Hey, there. How’s the nose?”

“It’s still throbbing.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Unable to make eye contact, she kept her head down whilst entering into the vacant, horrifyingly silent living room. Everything had been cleaned up, and now looked neat and tidy; not a clue left of a party of that magnitude. The pool was covered, the bar was closed, and all the chairs were tucked in. A few birds were lounging around outside, going about their business, soaking in the warm, summer air. Bright light shone out of the glass doors, illuminating the room.

Still unable to look directly at each other, they peered out of the glass doors, and hoped the words they needed to say would appear out of the blue, and introduce themselves. Violet could feel his stare, and so, turned to look up to him. His anguish multiplied the more he longer they stared at each other. Folding his hands together, he nervously fidgeted with his thumbs. Violet understood he was avoiding her because of shame and regret, but it dawned on her that she might be in denial; she might not be ready to hear what he had to say.

“Matt, about Friday night…”she trailed off.

“Violet, I’ve been such a fucking idiot,” he struggled. “I have absolutely no idea what came over me, and I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t even think straight.”

“I’ve never seen that side of you before; it was frightening.”

“I believed, at the time, that you provoked me into behaving that way.”

 “How so?”

“Your friend, Tom,” he sneered. “You love him, I can tell. When I saw the way he looked at you that night, I knew the feeling was mutual. I didn’t want to be anywhere near your ‘little reunion’, so I went and drank until I could not think straight.”

“Why would you care about what happens between us?”

 “I cared about you. I’d drop everything for you. I lo-”

“Please don’t use the word I think you’re going to use.”

Matt paced around the living room, rubbing his temples and running his hand over his face, careful not to touch his wounds. “Why do I believe the only reason you’re here is to save his ass?”

“Because you’re thinking with your little head, and aren’t taking our friendship into account.”

“Are you scared I’ll sue him?” There was bitter resentment in his tone; he was going to put up a fight, pulling anything and every ounce of reason which he could justify.

Violet took a long pause and, with a sigh, averted her gaze.

A cruel, sadistic smile formed on Matt’s lips. “Exactly what I thought.”

As Violet made her way to the door, frustrated by the fruitless conversation, Matt accidentally dug too deep into one of his bruises and flinched in pain. Turning around, Violet saw him cup his face in agony, and inevitably felt the urge to help him. She ordered him to sit down while she got some ice from the kitchen, to which Matt groaned in approval. Entering the kitchen, she opened the door of the refrigerator and took out the pack of ice. The cool, wet feeling of the ice numbed her; quickly, she ran back to the sofa, and sat next to Matt.

Hesitantly, she tried to angle the pack without putting too much of her weight on his body. Matt made no protest, and he watched her gradually lower the ice pack below his eye. She heard him wince when the pack made contact with his skin. After a few moments, Matt closed his eyes, beginning to relax. Violet was tempted to trace her fingers over his face, hoping each touch would be a balm for his sores, both on the inside and out. Little by little, her lips moving closer to his, tempted to take a bite. Her kiss was reciprocated gently and carefully. It was no shock of lightening, one that would make you run out of the door screaming at the top your lungs, but it was comforting. This kiss had in it a comforting sensation; something sound, something concrete. It was an all too new experience, none like the others, but that did not mean Violet did not enjoy it. She carefully left his lips and moved to the bridge on his nose, pecking it lightly.

When she retracted, she saw a smile on Matt’s face which shone so infectiously bright, it outmatched the injuries on his face. Violet failed to suppress a smile, and she peacefully wrapped her arms around his chest. “Wow. T-that was surprisingly nice.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he chuckled lightly.

“One date,” she stated. “I’ll go out on one date with you.”

He sat bolt upright; his eyes shone in excitement and anticipation. “Then, darling, prepare to be blown away. Fireworks! A chocolate fountain! I’ll rent the entire fucking Eiffel Tower just for the two of us.”

“You may need to tone it down a smidge, Matt. Although, if the chocolate fountain is portable, I’m already yours.”

He laughed, squeezing her closer towards him while his lips rested on the top of her head. She giggled in return, resting her head on his chest, feeling its rhythmic swell. In that embrace, instead of lonely nights, and voicemail, she saw birthdays, trips, and a proper relationship. It would be a lie to say that the thought of it all did not entice her.

“Hey, Violet. Seeing you has been great and all, but I’m expecting George soon; I need to help him out with something. But, you can stay if you want.”

“Nah, I know you two are doing drugs, anyways,” she joked.“Whatever goes on between you two, stays between you two.

 “Oh, and by the way, about your friend… I won’t sue him, nor will I confess this to some news reporter. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I slipped into a pole or something like that.”

“I’d really appreciate that, Matt. But, how would you convince them? You’re a kind of a shit actor.”

“I’m sure there must be a subtler way of saying that.”

“Maybe, but it was the only way I could have said it.”

Violet got up, and Matt stood with her, and they walked towards the door together. Matt promised he would call as soon as possible and arrange their date. “I want to surprise you.”

“Alright, alright,” she replied. “Take care, sweetheart.”

“Likewise, Violet.”

Matt leaned down for another kiss, which Violet replied easily. With the quick kiss and embrace, Violet left the apartment and headed down the stairs. Contemplating, she retraced every step in her mind. Maybe it had occurred to her before, but she did not expect to make out with Matt. It was the farthest thing from her mind, and as usual, the farthest thing from her mind was the first thing that happened.

Since she did not take the car, she decided to stroll around. She had nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon. It was a Sunday, the day before the chaos of work would drop on her like an anchor, depressing her until the next Friday. Besides, the day was too perfect to ignore, and a promenade was inevitable. People were out and about, and dogs chased after each other happily. It was days like these which Violet loved, ‘Un été à Paris’.

 Walking towards a random coffee shop, she saw none other than Luke Windsor, dressed as casually as ever, engulfed in what seemed to be a very serious conversation. Nobody was around him, and he walked into the coffee shop alone. Smirking, she followed him into the shop, where she found him trying to juggle the phone and his order in broken French. She could barely contain her laughter, and covered her mouth as she observed him.

“Yes, yes, but…un moment, s’il vous plait…No, you don’t understand,” he mumbled out.

Finally, it was too sad to endure, and she neared closer to him. “Looks like you might need some help. Do you want me to order for you?”

Surprised, Luke turned around to see Violet grimacing at him, and he let out a sigh of relief. With a nod, he backed away to finish his phone call, while Violet ordered a Café crème for him, and a Café au lait for herself. Turning around, she handed him his cup, and motioned to the door, asking him to walk around with her for some time. As soon as Luke finished the call, he followed Violet out the door.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” he nodded. “I owe you one.”

“No problem, Skippy,” she laughed, using her favorite nickname for Luke.

“And…now I hate you again.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Tom was busy filming, and I needed to sort out things with a few of my other clients.”

“Spy stuff, I assume,” she grimaced. “Speaking of Tom, I went over to Matt’s place and he told me he wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Are you sure we can trust him?” asked Luke, taking a sip of the coffee.

“It’ll be fine, Luke. We can trust him,” she answered firmly.

Getting a chance to take to Violet alone, he could not help but to get a few things off his chest. In a half-chuckle, half-irritated groan, he asked her, “D’you know Tom hasn’t stopped talking about you since you two met again? He goes on and on. ‘Violet this, Violet that’.”

A corner of her mouth perked up at Luke’s words. She could picture Tom excitedly bouncing around a room, smiling his face off, talking continuously about her while Luke would be sitting in a corner, attempting to ignore him by going through his schedule. “He does?”

“I’m so sick; I might actually abduct you and bring you to him so that he’ll leave me alone.”

“That bad, huh?” she remarked, cheeks turning red.

“I think he’s always harbored it, but seeing you now, it lit the fuse, and he can’t control it now.”

“Shit…” she muttered.

Surprised, Luke raised his eyebrow at her remark. “Shit? I figured you two were already sleeping together again.”

“No, we haven’t done anything of the sort,” she admitted. “In fact, I have a date, with someone else.”

“You and your ‘French lover boy’, huh?” Luke smirked.

“Why would you think that?”

“I just put two and two together,” he shrugged. “He wasn’t going to let you off easy, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to give him a chance. Besides, Tom shouldn’t have to care about me dating him.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Violet stopped in her tracks to stare at Luke. Just when everything was untangled, life came back to tangle it again, and she was not going to get a break. “Let me guess, it’ll make him unhappy.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t ever see you two with anyone but each other. You both  _claimed_  you weren’t in a relationship, but understood each other more than regular couples.”

“Thanks, Luke,” she groaned. “That really helped me out.”

“I’m probably the wrong person to talk to about this. Tomorrow, they’ll be filming pretty late. You can drop by and talk to Tom.”

“But they won’t let me in.”

“Text me when you get off work,” Luke explained. “I’ll give you the address and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, Skippy.”

“Call me ‘Skippy’ one more time and I might rethink my offer.”

“Alright Ski-, I mean, Luke.”

“I get you in tomorrow,” Luke promised.

“And, Luke. Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away.”

“You don’t want to kiss me, do you?”

Luke rolled his eyes at Violet. “I’ll pass. You’re not really my type.”

Violet thought about the conversation she had with Luke when she was getting ready for bed that night. As she snuggled under the covers with her Ragdoll, she thought about New York, more specifically, the first time Tom came to her apartment. He had managed to keep his hands off her for a while, and began examining her bookshelf. Violet admitted to be a self-described bibliophile, and Tom eagerly traced his fingers on the various book bindings until he stopped to take a certain book out of the shelf.

“I can’t believe you’ve read ‘Life of Pi’. It’s my favorite book,” he rejoiced.

“It’s mine too,” she admitted. Taking him by the hands, she stood on her tiptoes to nibble on his ears. “We’ll talk about it later, I promise. Right now, though, I kind of need your attention someplace else.”

She recalled a quote from that book, one she could not get out of her head until sleep crept up on her. It said:  
 _“It’s important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse.”_


	7. Spies and Ballrooms

Spies and Ballrooms

Violet gave Luke a quick hug when she arrived on the movie set in the evening and followed him inside. Keeping to her daily routine, she almost forgot about the promise she made Luke. She only realized it when she came home and, after a tedious day, she picked herself up and made herself look presentable. Work had been less then enticing; it mostly consisted of emails and meetings with the company’s clients. The only thing strange she found was an email from George. He had been contemplating on selling his work ever since he met her. It’s not that I need the money; I want to see how people react to it. She recalled giving him her card just in case he ever changed his mind. However, the abruptness of it all was shady; it gave her negative vibes.

“How’s the day been going so far?” she asked Luke.

“Not too bad. They were just about to film a scene at a party.”

“Oh joy, I love parties,” she sarcastically quipped.

“I think you might change your mind about this one,” smiled Luke. “C’mon, Tom’s probably in his trailer.”

After crossing what seemed to be an endless string of trailers, Luke finally lead her up to the door of one and opened it for her, letting her step inside. The first thing Violet noticed was a tall, broad shouldered figure with his back towards her. He had short, slicked back hair, and was dressed in a tux as dark as night, and had his head down, appearing to read something. Violet almost did not recognize him, until the bang of the door shutting made the man turn around. She was met by Tom’s surprised eyes and a gigantic, trademark grin. “Vi! Goodness what are you doing here?”

“Uhh, Luke told me to drop by,” she shrugged, pointing behind her. Turning around, she looked for Luke, but he was nowhere in sight.

“I have absolutely no idea how his brain works sometimes,” he stated. “Nevertheless, I’m always happy to see you.”

“It’s been so long since I saw you in a suit,” she remarked in awe. “Forgot how good you looked in them.”

“We can trade if you want,” he joked, indicating her floral dress and flats.

“Yes, because nothing would make me happier than seeing you show off your leg hair.”

Tom laughed so hard that his body flailed and tears welled up in his eyes. Remembering the makeup and costume he had on, he immediately tried to regain his composure by wiping his eyes and brushing his suit with his hands. “I have to be on set in a few minutes. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to someone special, our film’s evil villain.”

Violet nodded and followed Tom out of the trailer and down the steps. He extended his elbow out, allowing them to walk together, arm in arm. They entered the large movie set, built like a ballroom. The floors resembled pure, white marble, while gorgeous chandeliers hung above them. There was a fountain in the middle of the room, and the extras, dressed in evening gowns and tuxes, surrounded it. A few members of the crew ran around the actors, stopping by every so often to chit chat with them. At first glance, things looked completely chaotic; the calm before the storm.

Tom led her through the crowd of people, waving at a few of them as they went to the other side of the set. She could not help but blush when a few eyebrows were raised at her. Most of them were harmless, more curious than cruel, but she could spot the occasional glare amongst the sea of people. It only made her cling tighter to Tom and look at things wide-eyed, almost child-like. She breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the end, the spot where the director sat, and where the cameraman had set up the camera.

Looking around, she found a familiar face, which made her jaw drop deep into the ground. Dressed in an equally enticing suit, intently listening to someone, was Richard Armitage of all people. He looked exactly as he did on interviews and premiers: tall, mysterious, and devilishly handsome. Violet’s knees began to quiver, and she felt dizzy. She cupped her mouth and stared at Richard in shock while Tom burst into laughter.

“Ehehehe, oh, Vi. You should see your face right now,” he managed to breathe out.

“H-hhe’s R-rrich…why didn’t you tell me this before?!” she stuttered. “Why didn’t he show up to Matt’s place?”

“He didn’t want to,” Tom explained. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

Violet glared at him. “Have you seen him? What person on this planet wouldn’t want to bang the mighty Thorin Oakenshield?”

“Violet, please. You’re fangirling all over the set,” he teased.

“I-I…how do I look? Do I look okay?” she frantically asked, running her fingers through her brown locks.

“You look beautiful,” he answered sincerely, earning an ‘aww’ from Violet.

Richard walked up to them and greeted Tom with a smile and a nod, whilst a starstruck Violet stood there, gaping at him. When she heard Richard talk for the first time, she had a hard time keeping her balance. After a few nudges on Tom’s part, she finally regained enough consciousness to say hello.

“I’m such a fan,” she blushed.

“The pleasure is all mine,” replied Richard in his deep, gravitas voice.

“Richard here is our film’s evil mastermind,” Tom explained. “We just filmed a few fight scenes the other night.”

“Oh, I’m sure you two must have done an amazing job. It’ll be a bit weird, though. Thorin being the bad guy, and Loki trying to save the world.”

“It is sort of weird when you look at it that way,” chuckled Richard. “But I’ve been itching to play evil.”

They were soon joined by Lindsay, the costume designer. She had long, blonde hair in a messy French braid, and kind eyes. She greeted Violet and chatted with the two men about the costumes for the scene. Violet was fascinated by Lindsay’s design ideas; evidently, she had been in the business for a long time, and had a command on her department. Lindsay turned to Violet and suggested, “Maybe you could join in. We have an extra gown, if you’re interested.”

“I guess I could join in,” she replied. “I mean, if nobody minds.”

“No, no one’ll mind as long as you can dance.”

“Then count me in.”

“Alright then, darling. You need to come with me and we’ll get you all fixed up. I think the gown will fit you perfectly. Mind you, it can be quite a cumbersome process.”

Lindsay walked to the costume trailer, and Violet followed her. She found it a little difficult to catch up to Lindsay’s fast pace; she assumed it was a habit she had developed over the years, running back and forth to fix all the costumes she had ever worked on.

The costume trailer was more chaotic than the ballroom. There were sheets of plastic everywhere, and hangers scattered about the floor, except for one. Hanging on a rod was an emerald, strapless gown, made of the softest fabric imaginable. It looked so delicate, and Violet did not want to disturb it from its position. She watched intently as Lindsay handled the fragile dress in her arms. “So, darling, you can go ahead and quickly change. You aren’t afraid of changing like this, right?”

“Nope, I’ve had to change in worse conditions,” she answered, remembering the times she had to change in cramped spaces for her volleyball games.

“Great. Go on, do it now!”

Violet immediately took off her dress and placed it in a corner. Carefully, she slipped the gown on, and Lindsay zipped her up. It fit like a glove; it was the kind of gown you could move around it, and she loved it. When she saw herself in the mirror, she was rendered speechless. Not only did it feel good, she looked drop dead gorgeous in it. Dresses like these did not come this easy, or this cheap, either. She did a quick twirl, wearing the matching velvety green pumps. Lindsay directed her to the makeup artist, who effortlessly did her make up, giving her a smokey eyed look, and light colored lipstick. The artist collected the hair from her bare shoulders and twirled them into a classical updo. Next were the emerald necklace and earrings, which sparkled in the light and resembled the eyes of a hungry snake that was one step away from consuming its prey.

The whole thing took about forty minutes to get through, and Violet tried to hide her impatience by chatting with the artist and his assistants. When they finally finished, Violet took in the whole view, and could not connect the face she saw in the mirror to that of her own. Lindsay dropped by to see the final results and smiled at the work in satisfaction. She grabbed hold of Violet’s gown and lifted it up as she directed Violet into the ballroom again.

Much to her delight and horror, Violet was chosen to be Richard’s character’s arm candy. Instructively, Richard placed his hand on her back and pulled her closer to him. By this time, Violet had gained enough control of her real emotions, and kept a slightly flirtatious tone with Richard. She became so absorbed in the pretend character she had made up on the spot, she did not hear the director begin the scene. The camera turned slowly around to take in the panoramic view. When Richard gave a quick glance to a specific corner, Violet too, nonchalantly gazed at the same direction. She saw Tom and that same blonde woman standing next to him who had been at the party. She shone in the burgundy dress, and the camera shot them for a brief moment, having an intense, tactical conversation.

Richard, who held Violet closely in pretend-intimacy, leaned into her ear, “So, a blonde walks into a bar…”

Taken aback, Violet stared at him in confusion, scrunching up her face. “What?”

“It’s the only joke I know,” he revealed. “You looked a little wound up, so I wanted to make you feel relaxed.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But my heart’s beating a mile a minute right now. I think I might even faint.”

“Please don’t. Tom would kill me if I dropped you in the middle of a dance floor.”

They continued filming for a few other takes, and then moved on to the next scene. In this specific scene, Richard, Violet, Tom, and Samantha were supposed to be waltzing together and, coming to the middle of the crowd, Violet would change positions with Samantha and dance with Tom while Samantha interrogated Richard. At first glance, this task appeared effortless, but Violet realized the care with which she needed to execute the task. She watched closely as a few, more experienced actors demonstrated it.

Richard and Violet moved from their place onto the floor. When the director yelled ‘action’, the orchestra began playing sultry, but classical music. Couples spun around with precision, simultaneously giving the cameraman space to move, and making things look effortless. Violet kept her posture and danced with Richard for a few twirls. She could sense Tom coming closer to her, and her head made the room spin around. Despite it all, when Samantha and Violet were inches away from each other, Violet gently let go of Richard’s hands and spun to come into Tom’s arms. Tom’s eyes widened when he saw how beautiful Violet looked and, for a brief moment, almost forgot his lines. The camera focused its attention towards Richard and Samantha, while Tom and Violet glided together nearby.

“Wow, Vi. You look stunning.”

“It’s the hair and the makeup,” she blushed.

“If I may be so bold, you are the most breathtaking woman here.”

“Tom,” she groaned. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters, you can’t say anything that makes me blush this hard. Don’t flirt with me, Tom.”

“Violet, I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. But what am I supposed to do when you look at me with those eyes?”

“I don’t know,” she hissed. “You’re the actor, can’t you pretend?”

“As my friend, d’you really want me to live my life pretending?”

“Tom, I-.”

Before she could finish, the director yelled ‘cut!’, and they broke away from each other before Violet could finish her sentence. A sea of people began to gather around Tom, giving him instructions, fixing his makeup, and praising him. Several people pushed and shoved Violet back, and she scooted away from the scene; she did not want to be part of that world. Was she trying to kid herself by thinking she could be a part of this? She belonged in the real world, where people pay their dues, and live their lives independently.

She lifted up her gown and silently exited from the scene, heading into the makeup trailer. Taking off the dress, she cautiously hung it back on the rod where she found it, (then put on)her own dress. Zipping it up and taking the jewelry off, Violet looked into the mirror one last time. All she wanted to do was go home, take this clown makeup off, and crawl under the covers. Actors, they are so overdramatic.

Putting her own shoes back on, she hurried out of the trailer and walked towards the car park; she felt a hand grab hers. Turning around, she was surprised to find Richard on the other side of that hand.

“Violet, where are you going?” he inquired. “We have to film more takes.”

“Uh…Richard, I’ve had a pretty long day. I just wanted to go home and get some sleep.”

“But what will I tell Tom?”

“Tell him the truth,” she answered simply.

“I saw him looking around for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure he’ll forget me when the camera starts rolling.”

“Alright,” he acknowledged softly. “I can tell you want to go, and I don’t want to intervene.”

“Thank you.”

“Before you go, I saw you in the corner of my eye while we were filming…and frankly, I’m rooting for you both.”

“Umm, thanks, I guess.”

“Take care, Violet. I hope to see you again.” And with that, Richard disappeared into the set and out of Violet’s line of vision. Violet continued to trudge on towards her car.‘I’m rooting for you both,’ why do so many people keep saying that? I am a strong independent woman, and I don’t need a man. I’ve done fine all by myself.

Taking one final look at the set, she could still faintly hear the orchestra playing. With a long sigh, she got into her car and drove back to the comfort of her home without looking so much as a glance behind her.


	8. Fool Me Once...

Throughout history, artists of all kinds have kept men, women, and even pets as their muses. The artist would do anything for them. They were almost always talented, vivacious, and rather passionate themselves. Despite their other accomplishments, they will forever be regarded as the beings who set the artist’s souls on fire, and pushed boundaries, thereby changing the face of art itself. So, what of the artist’s muse?

While stroking Chaplin’s fur, Violet was looking over the notes she made of the new paintings, which had arrived rather suddenly from work this morning. It was typical around this time in Paris that most of the paintings were of cafés, streets, and parks. Paris had that power to posses its inhabitants, making it one of the greatest muses of all times. Violet turned the page to see a painting of a couple dancing in the rain near the Eiffel Tower. Their faces where mere silhouettes, so only they could see each other. As a child, she had always wanted to have a kiss under the Eiffel tower. Then again, she also believed red apples would put her into a deep sleep. Life moves on, but at least there was a greater chance of the former happening than the latter.

Her phone began to ring, and Matt’s picture appeared on the screen. Picking it up, she raised it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Violet!” chimed Matt. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“Nope,” she replied, pushing the paperwork aside. “Work, that’s all.”

“If it’s just work, then do you think the pretty lady could possibly take a break tonight? I want to take her to her favorite place.” 

“There’s nothing the lady couldn’t heartlessly abandon,” she giggled through the mouth piece.

“Then it’s settled, chéri. I’ll see you at six-thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Au revoir, Violet,” he replied warmly, ending the call. Violet smiled; the prospect of dating Matt appeared brighter now. She was looking forward to it.

The phone rang again, and this time it was Tom. A part of her wanted to ignore it because of how unnecessarily sentimental he was the last time he saw her. To avoid getting back into a monotonous and endless spiral of a relationship, she wanted to lay low from him for a while. Much to her dismay, she was forced to pick up the phone when Chaplin jumped off her lap and repeatedly nudged her till she yielded. Clearly, the cat had other plans for Violet.

“I’m not talking to you, Tom.”

“I fail to understand what I did wrong here, Vi,” he protested. “And even if I did, I know you won’t stay mad at me forever.”

Her voice came off a little harsher than intended. “Why do you keep assuming I feel the same way as you do?”

“Uh… um,” he mumbled. She could pick up the hurt in his voice, as if he took a slap to the face. The tone of his voice became softer, more submissive. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, Vi. I’m sorry for being so inconsiderate to your feelings. D’you think you can let me make it up to you?”

The man was right; she could not even stay mad at him for a moment. He could probably make her murder someone if he used that voice again.

“Okay, Tom. But you’d have to get me something,” she teased. “Something with lots of chocolate in it.” 

“Seems fair,” he acknowledged. “How about tonight?”

Violet bit her lip. “Tonight? Umm…I already have plans.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he remarked. “I’m not going to be available for the next two weeks after tonight.”

Violet pondered for a moment, stuck between a rock and a hard place. It also was not fair that she had kissed both her rock and the hard place; she did not want to disappoint either. She knew Matt was going to be here forever, and their favorite restaurant was not going anywhere anytime soon. Tom, on the other hand, was not going to be around for long. The movie would stop filming, and Tom would go back to being the nomadic machine who would only call her once in two weeks. That was the thing which did not let her turn the relationship into something more than friendship.

Despite her hesitation, there was a nagging and tugging in her heart, telling her to meet Tom instead of Matt. Violet could not escape it. Now that she turned him down, she wanted him. He instantly became the forbidden object. She entertained the thought of still being in love him, but it was too late to take back her word.

Tom’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “Vi? Vi, are you still there?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m still there,” she answered absent mindedly. “Tonight will be great.”

She could practically hear the smile on his face. “Fantastic. I know this place where the hot chocolate is to die for.”

“Text me the location, and I’ll meet you there. And, you’re paying.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “And Vi?”

“Yeah, Tom?”

“I’m sorry…”

“You already said that,” she pointed out.

“I still mean it,” he said earnestly.

Putting the phone down a second time, she laughed at herself for being so impulsive. No matter what, she was a naïve child inside, always chasing after the candy which would eventually rot her teeth out.

She texted Matt, telling her that important work had popped up and she could not make it to dinner, and would be happy to reschedule for the next night. Matt did give the impression that he was a little let down, but it was nothing compared to the devastation he would feel if he found out where she was actually going. The next text she got was the address of the place Tom wanted to take her.

In that moment, Violet decided to unwind with a bath. She slowly descended into the tub of bubbles and bath salts. It smelled like violets and gardenias around her, making her smile. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and gripped the side of the tub. All of the sudden, the bath became gigantic whereas, she shrunk. Had she not have gripped the railings, she believed she could have drowned. 

Still gripping the edges, she lowered her head down until it was fully immersed in water. She squinted to avoid the soap while simultaneously watching the way water changed the shape of everything giving it a rough, wiggly and sudsy appearance. Among the water and bubbles, she heard two voices, Tom and her own.

“Has anyone told you you have big feet? Because you know, big feet mean…”

“Big shoes,” chuckled Tom

Violet’s head burst out of the water, splashing it on the floor. She tucked her wet hair behind her ears and blinked a few times in the light. Her attention turned towards the setting sun on the other side of her window, and then back to her pruny hands. She decided to get up and pick out her outfit for the night.

***

Violet came to Angelina at the exact time they decided and sat down at one of the tables. After hours of going through her closet, she had opted for a soft, creamy top with black jeans and no jewelry. Luckily, Tom had Luke reserve a table because the place was bustling with tourists eating, drinking, and laughing out loud together. It was unfortunate she could not paint to save her life; the vitality of the place would have looked gorgeous on a canvas. Instead, she decided to be part of the scene and ordered a glass of wine while she pretended to text on her phone. Tom should be arriving soon.

She imagined him crashing into the hotel room, looking around at the mess of wires he made. He would step into the shower and walk out of it with a tiny towel. His hair would be dripping wet as he would try to find a clean shirt among his six articles of clothing. It was a little silly of her to try and picture his muscular arms trying to fit into a shirt so old she probably bought it for him. Clean shirt miraculously found, he would take one more look at his room and realize what a messy human being he was. Tom would jump into a car and he would walk through those doors…now

Okay…now!

How about…now?

Minutes ticked by, and all Violet could see more tourists coming in, but no Tom. She was beginning to get a few dirty looks from the people waiting in line, thinking she was just taking up space. Violet even started to believe her. First she had fake texting, which turned into playing tetris, which turned into actually calling and texting Tom. He was not answering, and even Luke was not picking up. Was this some stupid actor thing she was not allowed to know about? After doing nothing but playing with her hair, she began to get irritated. She was quickly losing faith in Tom,)\ and she kept blaming herself for it. Had she not have been a complete idiot, she would be on a date with Matt, genuinely having a good time. Because of Tom, she was here alone, looking like a fool.

One of the waiters came up to her and asked her how long she would stay. Obviously, they did not want her to take up their tables either. She paid for the wine and got up, her face red with anger and resentment for Tom. Stepping out into the Parisian air, she fumbled around her purse, hoping to find what she needed. At last she found a fresh cigarette and a match. Violet sat down on a nearby park bench, put her feet up, and lit the cigarette. The lights of the city twinkled and danced around her while she stared into empty space.

“How could I trust him again?” she muttered to herself, taking in another puff. “That thoughtless ass.”

After a while (really when the cigarette finished), she got up from the bench and walked towards her car. There was no use weeping over him now, because she always knew he only cared about his career. He could get some other woman to be his slave, to sit and rise whenever he pleased while she would spend her life travelling and living her life. It was better to be free and alone than chained to a suffocating relationship.

Violet wanted to go and apologize to Matt; who cared if he found out the truth? She turned towards his street and parked the car in her usual spot. She slammed the door and rang the doorbell.

Matt opened the door and was surprised to see Violet looking pretty dressed up, considering she was supposed to be working. He gave a quizzical look at the sight of her, though somehow, he had a fair idea.

Avoiding his gaze, she gave a long sigh. “He stood me up.”

“Tom?” he asked, to which she nodded. “I should be saying you deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, Matt,” she managed to say. “I just don’t know what I was thinking…”

After a long silence, Matt stepped aside, “Alright, you can come in.”

“I hope you weren’t doing anything special,” she remarked, pointing at his sweater. “You only wear that when you’re doing something.”

Matt motioned for Violet to come in. Sitting on the living room couch, laughing and talking amongst themselves, were George and Yvonne. They both smiled warmly to greet Violet, and Yvonne stood up to embrace her. Her skin was softer than ever, and after the night she had been through, she needed a warm, genuine hug. Violet sat down in between them while Matt poured her some wine. She was grateful to see a smile on Matt’s when he handed the glass over to her, a clear sign that she was forgiven.

Soon, Violet relaxed. Yvonne promised to take her on a shopping trip tomorrow. George told this hilarious story about a beggar following him and loudly yelling in Spanish. He had thought the man was trying to rob him, whereas he was trying to return his jacket all along.

“You were lucky he returned the jacket,” Yvonne stated. She turned to Violet and confessed that the only thing he cared about more than his work was his designer jackets.

“Yes, darling. I’m sure the jacket would have complemented nicely with his one shoe and outrageous beard,” George chuckled. “I did give him a reward, didn’t I?”

Yvonne rolled her eyes. “My husband, the missionary.”

Violet giggled in response as her eyes danced around the room until they met Matt’s. His eyes were filled with complete adoration for the way she looked, and Violet could not help but blush in response. It was nice, the way he looked at her. He must have done that before too, but it only came to her attention now. With a quick wink, she returned to George and Yvonne’s conversation, unable to may attention to her urgently buzzing mobile phone.


	9. Even

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. Thank you all for reading it and liking it. Virtual hugs to every one of you! I'm sorry this took a little time, because life got in the way. Also, there is some swearing in this chapter.

First thing in the morning, Violet picked up Yvonne to go shopping. Pulling into the street, she beheld the view in awe. Yvonne lived with George in a rustic, white residence, nestled snuggly on the Quai de Bourbon. There were white window shutters in between the marble like bricks, and tiny balconies with black railings in patterns, where some people had put flowers. On one side, there was a spectacular view of the Seine. To Violet, it could have come out of any French romance novel ( _or dirty porn book_ ). She thought about looking out one of these dollhouse windows during dawn and dusk, sipping a cup of tea, perfectly content.  
  
She kissed Yvonne on both cheeks, followed by a tight hug. Closing her eyes, she took in the lotus scent coming from her perfume, a perfect match for her smooth, ebony skin. Since Yvonne knew the best places to get clothes, she basically gave the directions whilst Violet drove. As they engaged in chitchat, Violet allowed herself to forget last night, and the infinite feeling of loneliness she experienced when she lay down in her bed. For once, she encouraged Chaplin to sleep on her face, to which she happily obliged.   
  
Parking the car, she got out to look around. She was not too familiar with the street; she usually chose not to go there, not because it was too expensive, but because the clothes there were too dressy for her taste. She preferred shops which had less…sparkly clothes.  
  
Violet’s grey eyes were glued to the second hand shop she saw, tucked away in between two shoe stores. Yvonne, on the other hand, cringed at the name. It was not a matter of being snobby, it was in her nature. Yvonne had a sensitive nose, and not many but George knew. Whenever she wore anything worn by anyone before her, be it for a few moments, she felt the urge to peel it off her, as if someone had given her a used band-aid. If she did not know a person, she did not want to have their scent looming around her.  
  
Violet saw her disgruntled face and suggested they could go to another shop for the time being, to which she happily obliged.  Shopping with Yvonne, however, was a completely different scenario compared to how Violet shopped by herself. It was like a chess game, but with clothes instead of pieces. Every time Violet would pick something out, Yvonne would stare at it narrow-eyed, drumming her fingers on her chin, and finally shake her head. Subsequently, Yvonne would take her turn and would take something off the rack which was unlike something Violet owned: shimmery, sparkly and, upon occasion, leathery.  Smirking, she would raise her eyebrow. “No. Not going to happen ever.”  
  
“Trust me,” Yvonne pointed out. “Women would kill to look like you. Trust me, it’s my job. It’ll do great for your features.”  
  
“All right,” she chuckled, taking the clothes from her. “I get it. I’ve got a cute butt.”  
  
 She rolled her eyes. “Just try them on.”  
  
Dress after dress, Violet would stand uneasily whilst Yvonne’s would tilt her head to marvel at her choice and nod in approval. Violet would look down and scoff while her legs rubbed against the fabric of the leather cocktail dress, making squeaking noises. By the third outfit, she thought, “ _Oh, fuck it_.”  When she came out, she would smile, give a twirl, and make a few ridiculous poses, which made Yvonne simultaneously laugh and shake her head.  
  
“I was destined to be model, Yvonne,” she remarked in a deep, glorified French accent.  
  
“If so, I pray for the well being of fashion itself,” Yvonne retorted.  
  
For the first time, Violet enjoyed spending time in the presence of a female friend.  It did not feel like she was goofing off in front of a respectable magazine editor, but an older, wiser friend who enjoyed her company, and made jokes with her; a friend who made her feel at ease.  
  
“You should get something too,” Violet insisted.  
  
“Darling, you can’t see it, but I already have a pile of clothes on the counter.” She winked.  
  
“You must give George a run for his money.”  
  
“Probably more than I should,” she chuckled. “But it’s important for two people in love to not put each other on a pedestal. Sometimes George makes me want to pack up and never come back, but at the end of the day, the things worth fighting for are never easy to get.”  
  
The corner of Violet’s mouth perked up as she stared at Yvonne, then back at the clothes. “You can only hope to get that kind of relationship.”  
  
 “You never know, Violet. You might already have it.”  
  
They paid for the clothes and left with more bags than both their arms could carry. Every so often, Violet’s ringtone would be heard from her bag, which she would ignore. When they stuffed their bags in the car and fastened their seatbelts, it rang again, followed by silence. Yvonne rubbed her temples as Violet turned the ignition on, impervious to the ringtone.  
  
“You can’t ignore him forever.”  
  
“I can try.”  
  
“I didn’t want to say this in front of Matteiu; I know he’ll get over protective over you. But maybe your friend has a valid reason for not coming.”  
  
“This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”  
  
“But you always forgave him, didn’t you? That’s why he’s calling. He still cares.”  
  
Violet’s eyes were somewhere else, somewhere far and somewhere no one could penetrate. “He has a real shit way of showing it.”  
  
Afterwards, they spoke little to each other till they said their goodbyes. With a small smile, Violet kissed Yvonne’s cheek and watched her walk up the stairs to her house. As Violet looked on, she thought of all the things she was going back to: The view of the sunrise and sunset by the river, the comfort and assurance of a permanent home, a partner lounging around the house, anticipating her arrival. She did have Chaplin, but she was never a co-operative shower partner.  
  
Violet wondered whether it was time to move on to something else. Paris had been good to her for three whole years, but she wanted to keep moving. A few days back, Violet had been called into her boss’ office where she offered her a promotion. Maybe she would have to move to another city for the job.  
  
Turning on the radio, she pondered over the potential cities where the gallery had offices. There was Prague, London, Rome, and New York. Violet played with the thought of going to Rome. Italy had captured her heart a long time ago. She could remember the one summer she had spent in Rome with her parents when she was fifteen. A friend of her father’s took her through the dust painted roads and flesh melting heat to the Trevi Fountain.  Beholding the marble and simultaneously listening to the man’s commentary was where Violet’s love for art first molded, and she never looked back.  
  
In the corners of the streets, through the noise and the crowd, there sat the street artists with their sketches of the Spanish Steps and Column of Marcus Aurelius. As much as she loved chatting with the artists who would smile and wave their hands in frantic gestures, it fascinated her more to watch those who did not bother to look up and chat with the ‘bellas’. Their canvas demanded all their attention, and, with swift moments of the brush and pencils, they captured the scene before them. She would sneak past her parents to watch these artists thrash and sketch.  Seeing all their work, it motivated Violet to make sure their work be noticed, and praised, as they deserved it. Once, one of the old men painting noticed her as he turned back to get fresh paintbrush from his ratty bag. He called her forth and showed her his painting of the crowd in front of the pizza shop.  
  
“ _Si_ , it’s nice and all. But this is not where the true magic is,” he stated, waving his finger in the air with the other hand on his hip. “The true magic is in Florence. You must go there someday.”  
  
His words stuck to Violet, and she spent the next few days showing her parents maps of Italy, talking of Florence, and noticing how close it was to her. To her disappointment, she never got to go, and from then on, it was almost as if the city was jinxed for her. Every time she had sat down to book her tickets, work would unexpectedly intervene, and she decided to put a hold on it for the time being.  
  
As soon as she put the key in the keyhole, she could hear Chaplin scratching on the other side. When she opened it, she saw her cat sitting on the floor with a scowl, and a black bell collar around her neck. She furrowed her eyes; the cat was not wearing that when she left. She picked up the cat, who was continuously scratching the collar. When she heard a drawer slam in the kitchen, her heart banged against her chest cavity, and her arms began to shake.  She lowered Chaplin on the couch and picked up the flower vase nearby ( _she never liked it anyway_ ). Vase in hand, she advanced to the kitchen and was about to lower the vase onto the perpetrator’s back, when he turned out to be Matt. The vase slipped out of her hand and smashed into pieces on the floor.  
  
“Jesus! What are you doing here?” she snapped.  
  
Sheepishly, he motioned towards his hand which had a band-aid on it. “I wanted to surprise you, and I used the spare key under the mat. I even bought the cat a collar, and when I put it on, she scratched me.”  
  
“She’s never liked collars,” she remarked, putting her hand on his shoulder. “It was still sweet of you, though.”  
  
“I thought the cat and I could start over.” They had not necessarily been the best of friends since they first met each other. Violet did not really know if Chaplin would ever change her mind about him, no matter how many collars and catnip Matt could buy for her.  
  
He caught her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Violet blushed in response and gave him a quick hug. Matt squeezed her close, and her feet were off the ground in an embrace, forcing a giggle out of her. He peppered her cheek with kisses, mostly because she turned her head away and he missed her lips.  
  
Matt gradually let her down and raised an eyebrow. “Why did you turn away?”  
  
“I was just turning my head to make sure the cat didn’t choke herself,” she lied.  
  
“You know what, I’ll choose to believe you, for now.”  
  
Matt went home after spending some time with Violet, promising to take her out for drinks later that night. When they entered through the doors, the first thing Violet noticed were the blindingly sharp ceiling lights. The music seemed to seep out from everywhere, as if they fit speakers in between the cement of the buildings. It was a new song, one which was alien to Violet’s ear, while other people sang along as they held hands, singing to each other in the midst of the blaring, and they danced around in every way possible.  
  
They leaned over the table together, joking about nothing in particular. Matt’s hand slowly crept under the table to graze Violet’s leg gently, causing her cheeks to turn pomegranate red. Giggling, she swatted him away and took a sip of her drink, peering out to the moving shapes on the dance floor.  
  
“You better get ready to dance,” she stated matter of factly.  
  
He made a smile as though he might pass out. “I don’t know, Violet.”  
  
“Please?” she pouted.  
  
“Alright,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, though.”  
  
“I know. And for that, you might get a special reward afterwards…”   
  
Matt laughed lightheartedly, his insides stirring in anticipation for the ‘reward’, especially after holding it in for so long. He glanced once more to the floor, and was ready to take the chance with Violet, until he saw a familiar face on the other side of the crowd of rhythmical noises and colors; Tom’s face. His jaw clenched, and his hand scrambled for Violet’s hand, pinning it, and her, to the table. “Violet, I think we should leave.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It’s just…” He scowled. “I don’t think you’d enjoy it.”  
  
Violet slipped her hand out from under his grasp and stood up. “I’m sure I’ll be-” Before she could finish, her wandering gray eyes met Tom’s, which were perched on the private floor, higher than everyone else. Violet gulped hard, feeling her legs reduce to noodles with heels attached to the end. Instead of looking at him, she kept wordlessly staring up, hoping the sadness would stake him through his heart, leaving him as humiliated as she was.  
  
Tom did not look away either. His right eyebrow was raised up, and she could see his hands fidgeting as they held the metal bars. Averting his eyes from her, he rubbed his temples and pushed himself back into the party.     
  
“I knew it,” Violet muttered to herself. He did not have the balls to even mouth out an apology, as she saw him turning away to join the rest of the cast. Catching that last image of him, she closed her eyes and bit her lip, tasting the now lead-like lipstick.  She did not notice the hand slip into hers, trying in vain to make her grip back. It took an arm around her waist to make her come back to Matt.  
  
“We can go, if you want to,” he murmured into her ear.  
  
 “I think it’s best we should,” she nodded slightly.  
  
Matt held her hand and walked in front as they headed out the door. Violet could feel another set of fingers trying to reach her. The music was at its highest, and Violet could make out someone calling her name. Turning around, she saw Luke trying to reach her from the crowd. Once he knew she saw him, he waved his hand in the air. No audible words came out, but Violet could tell from the movements of his mouth and hands that he was yelling, “Violet! Tom needs to talk to you!”  
  
Violet slipped her hand out of Matt’s grasp without him noticing, and walked in Luke’s direction.  Whatever remorse she wanted to see in Tom was all plastered on Luke’s face instead.  He tried to lean in for an embrace, but Violet’s wounds were too sore to accept any balm either of them could offer. She stepped back, folding her arms. “What do you want?”  
  
“WHAT?” Luke yelled, leaning his head forward. “THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD.”  
  
She pointed to a corner and wordlessly ordered him to follow, swerving past the crowd in hopes of finding a decent place to talk. Looking down, pushing past the people, her head collided against what felt like the soft, firm form of someone’s chest. She tilted her head up to apologize, and she met Tom’s stare. He sighed, grateful to finally find her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. She swatted it away as if a vermin was there in its place. Tom opened his mouth to form some sort of explanation, trying to formulate the words fast enough. Violet, however, shook her head and walked away.  
  
When Tom grabbed Violet’s hand as the last chance to amend his mistake, she pushed away and turned to face him. There was less of a crowd at that point, so words were more audible.  
  
“Why can’t you just listen to me for a second?” he fumed.  
  
“Hey, I shouldn’t even be here, for one,” she sneered. “I don’t want you to be seen with a nobody like me.”  
  
“You’re not a nobody. Vi, I’m sorry for last night, I mean it. I truly am,” he pleaded, his eyes hidden behind his creases. “I have an explanation.”  
  
Anger and hurt boiled inside her, and she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ever call me ‘Vi’! Don’t text me, don’t call me. Don’t act like a fucking puppy in love with me. I know now that I don’t mean a single thing to you, and guess what? You don’t mean a fucking thing to me!”  
  
By then, a few people had heard their argument, and a crowd surrounded them. They whispered to each other in French, nodding and shaking their head. Tom and Violet stood there completely exposed, as if someone tore their clothes. Violet blushed and avoided eye contact with everyone, especially Tom.  He was speechless too, and he could see Luke shuffling his way over to cover the situation. Ducking his head down to avoid camera flashes, Tom took a stronger, crueler hold of Violet’s hand and led her to the back door of the club. He asked the bartender to keep an eye out for photographers, and motioned for Luke to stay while they were outside. Getting out into the fresh air, he closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair over and over, until Violet was sure he pulled some out. “Did you get a kick out of that? Humiliating…no, executing me in public?”  
  
“Because that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” she spat. “The public.”  
  
Gritting his teeth, he fumbled around in his pockets until he took out two pieces of paper, throwing them on the street. “In case you’re too clueless to realize, I actually give a shit about you. I found out that they didn’t need me for the next weekend. I spent the entire day fixing every fucking minute detail for you, which might have taken longer than I had anticipated. I assumed you would understand, but then you had to go and pull a stunt like that, and I’m pretty sure you know what kind of consequences I’ll have to deal with because of you.”  
  
Knitting her eyebrows, Violet slowly crouched down to look at the crumpled piece of paper. It was a receipt for a first class train ride to Florence for him and her. She covered her mouth, staring at the tickets as her heart threatened to rip out of her chest. “Oh Tom…”  
  
“I know I’ve been an ass, Violet.  I wanted to take you so that I could apologize for everything, and be friends again,” he explained in an indifferent voice, controlling the anger pulsating from his veins. “I assumed you would understand, but then you had to go and pull a stunt like that, and I’m pretty sure you know what kind of consequences I’ll have to deal with because of you. But, we’re done now, and you won’t ever have to see me again. Do what you want with the tickets.”  
  
Oh God,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”  
  
“Forget it, Violet,” he replied coldly.  
  
Tom made an exit out the door, leaving Violet in the street, shaking her head with the tickets still in her hands.


	10. Shakespeare in the Hotel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter took a little longer to write. There were a few kinks I needed to work out. Thank you for being patient with this incredibly lazy nutjob. I hope the next one comes out a little quicker.

“Violet!” Matt called, peering his head out from the bathroom. “Care to join me in the shower?”

She gave him an uneasy smile from the living room sofa, shaking her head slightly. Her mind had already been preoccupied with flashbacks from the night before with Tom. The tickets felt like boulders in her purse, and while Matt took a shower, she opened her bag to check whether they were actually there. To check whether the argument _actually_ happened, and that she had indeed hurt Tom, or if it was all a crazy hallucination.

 Taking Matt to Italy with her would have been the worst possible thing she could have done with them. Going herself did not feel right either. Even though this time, there were no serious distractions or complications, she neither had the energy or the heart to do it alone.

Picking up Chaplin, she chuckled, watching the cat go limp in her arms. She scratched under her chin down to where her belly began as she looked into her eyes, reminiscent of the marbles people used to play with on the schoolyard. The Ragdoll nuzzled and rubbed her face against Violet’s cheek, begging for more petting. Her feather duster tail swished in the air when Violet turned her around to pet her back, their faces close together.

“What do you say, Chaps?” she asked, rubbing her paw with her thumb. “Do _you_ wanna’ go to Rome with me?”

Matt came out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel. “Why are you going to Rome?”

“I’ve wanted to go to Italy for a long time. Never really got around to it until now.”

“I see,” he remarked, sitting by her to graze her leg the hand he took out of his damp hair. Chaplin’s head snapped in his direction and she gave a low hiss in his direction.

Furrowing her brows at the cat, Violet let her down and scooted closer to Matt. “I’m sorry. I think I might go myself.”

“Whatever you want, Violet.”

His arms crept around Violet as he covered her ear with slobbery nibbles. He inched towards her, in hopes of round two with her. Violet shifted around, fumbling for the newspapers or anything which could give her some escape.

 As she discovered last night, she could only bear spending one night with Matt. She did not know how long he had been holding these feelings inside, but he practically idolized her. And she didn’t want an idol. She wanted to be a human who screwed up and needed someone to point out when she screwed things up. There were times and positions she could tell bothered Matt too, but he went ahead anyway. Sex with him left her feeling like a blow up doll slowly running out of air inside. She could not do it again for at least another few days.

“M-matt, I got some errands today.”

“Can’t they wait?” he breathed against her mouth, squishing and contorting her lips using his.

“N-no,” she replied, pushing him away and standing up. “I’ve ignored them for too long.”

Matt sighed, getting up. “I get it, Violet. I can take a hint.”

Violet held both his hands, and managed a smile. “I’m just busy today, okay? Next time, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she smiled, kissing him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Au revoir, Violet.”

After breakfast, Violet opened her mailbox. There were a few things about work, and one mail from her mom. Her mother’s guilty pleasure was celebrity gossip sites, and when her dad was asleep and the house would be quiet, she would scroll through the archives, taking it every detail and believing almost any celebrity rumor if it was on more than five of those blogs. Violet once walked in on her in the middle of the night by accident, and since then, she accepted it without actually having to talk about it. 

 Groaning, Violet opened it and saw an article with a blurred picture of her and Tom looking angrily at each other with the title ‘Hiddles Gets Angry, Heats up Nightclub with Argument’ There were exaggerated details about what Violet looked like. They even had ‘reports’ from witnesses which talked about how Tom grabbed her by the wrist and disappeared, followed by a few paparazzi pictures of Tom leaving the scene immediately. However, there was no statement on Tom’s behalf, so this was going to be swimming in the rumor cesspool for a while.

 Her mother had reserved her own little section in the email where she probed about whether or not it was really her (‘I’d recognize your dress anywhere’) and asked about how she knew him and what happened between them. In the end, she wrote ‘Call me when you can.’

She felt breakfast crawling up her throat, and calling her mother, of all people, to talk about it would be the last thing that would help. What if there were people hiding in her dumpster this very minute? Tumblr would be going crazy right about now (she never dared to go near it, but she had friends who had blogs). This was exactly the thing she wanted to avoid in the first place.

But, the only thing Violet did was stare at Tom’s pixilated face as she remembered the anger and disappointment in his eyes. He had clenched his jaw so tight, it hurt _her_ face. Violet sighed, redoing her ponytail. “I completely fucked it up, didn’t I, Chaps?”

Chaplin did not bother to look up from her bowl of milk. “ _What do you think?”_

“I’m taking your silence as a ‘yes’.”

 Getting the tickets from her bedroom, she examined them again. The date of departure was a few days away. Not the ‘I-have-to-pack-everything-right-now’ way, but the ‘well-I-should-have-at-least-some-sort-of-checklist’ way. An apology was in order, and there was no other option in Violet’s mind than to do it in person because texting him would be heartless.

She was pretty sure about where Tom was staying, but the real challenge was getting past Luke and anyone from the press who would recognize her as ‘the Nightclub Girl’.

Taking out her phone, she texted ‘How is he?’ to Luke, but did not press send. Luke was never going to answer her. She would not answer either if she was in his place. Besides, why would he talk to the very woman who threw the proverbial shit on the ceiling for him to clean up?

After debating what to do, she decided to just wing it, hoping security was not that tight in the hotel.  If anything happened, she could call Yvonne, claiming to be a clumsy journalist who forgot her ID.

As far as anyone was concerned, she was just another interviewer walking through the doors, to talk to him about the movie and filming in Paris. He would welcome her in with a smile, no matter how exhausted he was on the inside. He would be practically jumping up and down in his seat as he answered questions, squeezing in references and quotes from anything and everything in between them. Violet smiled to herself when she thought it. “ _Just, please don’t have changed.”_

The man behind the desk peered at Violet through his rectangular glasses, and pink, freckled nose. “May I help you?” he asked in a strong French accent.

“I am looking for a…Mr. Norman James,” she replied, rummaging through her bags for her nonexistent files. After all these years, Tom kept the same fake name for when he checked into a hotel. He once told her it was his father’s fist and middle name backwards, and so far, it still worked.  

“He’s in room 304,” he informed, going back to whatever magazine he was reading under the table.

She flashed a bright, plastic smile in his direction. “Merci.”

Turning around, Violet caught sight of Luke in the lobby, and quickly covered her face, walking towards the elevator with the open doors. Holding her breath, she ducked her head, watching Luke head outside with his phone stuck to his ear.

She watched the floor numbers increase in the screen, and the sound of her heart racing drowned out the cheesy elevator music. Her hands began to shake, and all she wanted to do was sit down in fetal position in the corner. Rejection was a more plausible option than Tom forgiving her. She just did not want to get into a bigger argument than the one she was already in right now. Wobbling fiercely in her heels, she decided to take them off, and padded down the white, empty hall towards room 304.

She knocked softly on the door and used a fake French dialect she picked up on vacation a year ago. “Mr. Hiddleston? I’m here for your interview…with Vogue Paris.” 

“I’m so terribly sorry, but I did I have an interview with you?” asked an upbeat voice on the other side.

“Eh, yes. I already spoke with your publicist in the elevator.”

 With a bottomless intake of breath, she heard the door open. Tom opened it, but the second he saw her, the smile on his face traded places with a narrow eyed scowl. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked harshly. “Forgot to yell at me for something else?”

Before he closed the door, she placed her foot in front of the door as it squeezed hard in it. “Ow, fuck!”

“Violet,” he groaned, rubbing his forehead. “For fuckssake.”

Rubbing her foot, she looked up to give him a pleading look. “Please, Tom. All I need is five minutes to talk to you. If anything, can I get some ice for my foot?”

Sighing, he at last nodded. “Five minutes.”

Violet limped inside, and sat on the couch as Tom took a few ice cubes out of the fridge, and covered them in a towel. Kneeling in front of her, he gently touched Violet’s crimson foot. Violet took it from his hand, lightly brushing her fingertips against hers. He jerked his hand away and stood up. “You know your five minutes have started, right?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for treating you so badly ever since I saw you in Paris.

His fingers found their way to his neck again. “I just didn’t understand why you had to do what you did. You know how much I care, but keeping you away from trouble is a two way deal, Violet. You have to do some work too.”

“I know. I guess I let my feelings get the better of me,” she said. “I’ve been the worst friend ever and a real bitch, and just…unfair to you. I tried to get you to do the things the way I wanted, and I whined when it didn’t happen. And, I am really truly sorry.”

He sighed. “Well…what you want now, Violet?” 

“‘I-I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends’.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, his lips forming a small smile. “You just quoted ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’.”

“I hoped it would put things in my favor,” she shrugged.

He stepped closer to her, smirk intact. “‘Friendship is constant in all things, save in the office and affairs of love.”

“‘The course of love never did run smooth.’”

“I have to say, I’m kind of impressed,” he admitted. “You putting all this effort to come here and wooing me by reciting Shakespeare.”

Violet shook her head, scoffing. “Don’t be. I just googled a bunch of random lines last night and I hoped for the best.”

He chuckled to himself as he looked out the window at the setting sun. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Listen, if it’s all the same to you, our train to Italy is leaving tomorrow night. And, going with anyone but you is gonna’ suck balls.”

“Well, balls aren’t really the best body parts to suck, are they?” he remarked. “Can you give me some time to think about it?”

She nodded, “Of course, take your time. My five minutes are probably up, anyway. Just make sure Luke isn’t around.”

 “He isn’t here.”

She chuckled weakly as she stood up. She hobbled her way out of the door, turning back to give Tom a small smile. “Bye Tom.”

He gave a small nod, and Violet disappeared into the hall. Luke came out of the elevator just as Violet finished staggering through the labyrinth of rooms. Gasping, she crashed into the open room adjacent to her, landing herself in the arms of a lanky teenager with a face blotchy from pimples. He looked at her and licked his dry lips, smiling at her.

“Sorry, kid,” she shook her head. “I’m too young to be a cougar.”

XXX

Entering the apartment, Violet crashed on the sofa, and threw her heels to the side, vowing never to wear those foot torturing devices. She picked a sleepy Chaplin up from the couch, and held her in her arms. “Well, Chaps, I did what I could, and he said he’d think about it.”

The ragdoll yawned and licked Violet’s knuckles, rubbing her face against them. She rolled on to her back and snuggled closer to her owner. Violet held out her fingers, making them dance in front of Chaplin, and in return, Chaplin tried to grab them in her paws. Smiling, she nuzzled her cat’s nose. “Whatever happens, Chaps, you’ll always be the best roommate ever. Even though you put your furry butt on my face, I still love you more than I could love any man.”

_“ Slow down there, human. You’d have to buy me dinner fi- oh, wait. You do buy me dinner.”_

“It’s a text alert, it means I’ve got a text.”

She took out the phone from her bag and stared at the screen for a while. It was from Tom. She frantically unlocked the screen and re-read the message a few times over, covering her colossal smile with her hand.

_Vi, I’m gonna’ need my ticket back. *wink*_

_X_

_Tom._


	11. La Spontaneità

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long, folks! I hope this chapter might make you feel better. So, first things first, I tried making things as accurate as possible about the trains, more for myself than anybody, so apologies if they seem a bit strange. Also, Bunsen Bill does not belong to me; I read when Tom used to be younger, he used to be a bad guy named 'Bunsen Bill'. His ability to shoot lasers is something someone could ask Tom sometime in the future.

_“Please don’t do this to me, human. It’s not worth it!”_  pleaded Chaplin, running to catch up to Violet’s bare feet, constantly nudging them with her nose.  
  
“It’ll be fine, Chaps,” she assured, bending down to pet her. “Sara will take care of you. She’s nice, isn’t she?”  
  
 _“She makes stupid faces and weird noises at me; she treats me like a child_.”  
  
“Clearly, I’ve treated you like an equal for way too long.”  
  
 _“Even though I am much more superior.”_  
  
Violet picked up Chaplin in her free arm as the doorbell rang. She opened it to see Luke, giving her one of his looks. She laughed, while stroking her cat, and faked a deep, maniacal voice. “Welcome. I’ve been expecting you…”  
  
Without so much as cracking a smile, he raised his eyebrow. “I don’t know what you did. I don’t know how you did it. And I have no idea how you got past me.”    
  
“I have my ways,” she replied smugly.  
  
“Violet, I’m being serious here. Tom might have forgiven you, but it’s my job to keep him away from trouble. Normally, I’d be right behind you two, but I’ve got other things to do. If something bad happens, any dirty little secret gets out without my permission, you’ll never see Tom again.”  
  
“Do you really think I would do that to you two, after all these years?”  
  
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just…just lay low, okay?”  
  
She nodded, looking at the floor.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“As I’ll ever be,” she managed. She knew this was Luke’s job; something he dealt with on a day to day basis. But how could he interfere like that? Odds are that Luke and Tom never had a conversation like this. And, because of one little mistake, he was putting all the blame on her. Tom better have had a conversation like this; it was his responsibility as much as hers.  
  
She gathered her bags and gave them to the chauffeur to put into the trunk. Bending down, Violet took Chaplin in her arms and kissed the top of her head.  
  
“I’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” she whispered. “Just find a nook to fall asleep in, alright?”  
  
Chaplin nuzzled against her before jumping off.  
  
“I love you, sweetheart,” she smiled, before locking the door.  
  
 She sat in the car across from Luke and said nothing to him as they drove to the hotel.  It was only when they reached the entrance that Luke took out his phone and dialed a number. “Yeah, we’re here. She’s with me. Alright, we’ll see you in a bit.”  
  
Violet slumped against the window, looking out into the purple sky as it loomed over the still snoring people of Paris. There were hardly any people on the roads; Violet was tempted to fall asleep herself, until the door she was slouched against opened with a jerk. She almost fell to the ground, had Tom not crouched down and caught her in time. He pulled her up and looked at her apologetically.  
  
“Vi, I’m so sorry,” he began.  
  
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” she assured him.  
  
She moved to the middle, making space for Tom. Shuffling in her place, she did not want to get too close to Luke after their ‘little talk’. But Tom still liked spreading his legs, leaving a more than generous space between them.  She did not want to point it out, though; he looked generally happy to go on vacation with her. He smiled the entire way while talking about the jokes and conversations that happened on set. She was still squished, but it did not stop her from smirking and giving the occasional retort.

  
Tom and Violet got off at the entrance of the Gare de Lyon. Comparatively more people were walking towards the doors with their suitcases. They were yawning as they checked their phone, looking up occasionally at the monitor with all the information. Tom opened the trunk and raised an eyebrow at Violet’s pixel suitcase before taking it out.  “What? I deal with art on a daily basis,” she retorted. “It rubs off on you sometimes.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Have you two got your tickets?” Violet nodded, taking them out from her bag to show him. “Good. You two are on your own for now,” he stated, his voice turning stern. “Remember, I trust you both.”  
  
“We know,” they answered in unison.  
  
He gave a little wave before turning toward the car. They walked in the other direction, without looking back at the car. Looking up, Violet nudged Tom on the arm. “So, how are we gonna do this?  Booking a secret train compartment, using an alter ego?”  
  
“Even better,” he smiled, narrowing his eyes. “We’re going to keep our heads down…”  
  
“You’re no fun, you know that?”  
  
He chuckled. “That’s what you think.”  
  
They checked in, and after waiting a while, sat in their compartment. It was only for the two of them, and they wasted no time in getting comfortable. Tom closed the compartment doors and sat opposite to Violet on one of the brown, squeaky leather couches. Between them was a black table with the menu placed in the middle. Violet took off her shoes and put her feet up on the couch. People were still walking through the hall, becoming odd pieces of mosaic as they passed the doors. Violet wondered if anyone ever painted a picture of people behind glass doors like these; she would buy it, if she could.  
  
“It’s been a while since I had a decent vacation,” Tom remarked.  
  
“Same,” she nodded.  
  
Tom rested his head against the windows and folded his arms. He observed her vacant expression with a frown. Apart from a few comments, she had not said much. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
“The doors,” she replied. “And the way people look all blurry behind them.”  
  
“What about Chaplin? Did you get a sitter?”  
  
“My neighbor’s going to check on her from time to time.”  
  
“Okay,” he nodded. “She’s not going to get too upset, is she?”  
  
She did not turn to face him, but she smiled. “You’ve got a tremendous soft spot for her.”  
  
“She reminds me of Orlando.”  
  
Raising her eyebrow, she turned to him. “You had a cat named ‘Orlando’?”  
  
“Hey, he was the best cat ever, Vi.”  
  
“Tell me, did he come before or after the ‘Bunsen Bill’ period?”  
  
He groaned, clutching his forehead. “Did I tell you about that?”  
  
She leaned her elbows on the table. “So, that leads me to my next question... Who would win in a fight, Loki or Bill?”  
  
“Hmm…” he remarked, mimicking Violet. “Bill. Definitely. Don’t laugh; he shoots lasers out of his eyes.”  
  
“I would have loved to have met your younger self. All blonde and curly and energetic.”  
  
“I don’t really miss the curls,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair. “I looked like a 6 foot 2 broom.”  
  
“But it would be great for the ladies,” she pointed out. “You could sweep them off their feet.”  
  
Violet banged on invisible drums. “Ba-dum-tish.”  
  
He laughed, shaking his head. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”  
  
“Puns are sophisticated, Tom.”  
  
“On the backs of chewing gum wrappers, maybe.”  
  
Maybe Violet looked at him for too long.  Maybe there was a weird phenomenon that completely fucks up your judgment when trains start moving. Whatever it was, she felt that same feeling in her gut that pushed her into introducing herself to Tom all those years ago. It was like all her organs had to rearrange, leaving a fuzzy feeling until they set back in their place. She had felt a hint of that the night Tom punched Matt, but this was the real deal this time. The only way to make it stop was to look away.  
  
“What did I do now?” he asked, bemused.  
  
“Personal space.”  
  
“Oh, I see,” he remarked slowly. He casually got up, slid next to her, and squished her against the window pane. Laughing, he pushed into her as much as he could. “Would this be regarded as an invasion of personal space?”  
  
“Of the highest order,” she grumbled, trying to push him away.  
  
He stopped pushing and placed his arm around her, closing his eyes. He was about to adjust himself in the nape of Violet’s neck, like he used to do before. Violet let out a small cough, and he immediately withdrew his arm.  They stared at each other with similar facial expressions, until Tom left the couch, back to where he previously sat. He began biting his lip, trying to avoid her gaze. “That was…”  
  
“Awkward,” she murmured.  
  
“Vi, can we pretend that never happened?”  
  
“Absolutely,” she spat out. “Maybe next time, if one of us crosses a line, we’ll say it. Right there.”  
  
“Right there,” he agreed.  
  
 Violet took out a book to read, while Tom listened to his iPod.  After not talking for so long, Tom’s eyes drooped. When sleep fully took over, he leaned his head back; his mouth opened slightly, by default. When Violet peeked up from her book, she covered her mouth to suppress giggles. Quickly, she got out her camera and took a picture of him with his sunglasses, large headphones, and half open mouth. She took a picture while he snored softly. Inspecting the picture, she smiled to herself. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”  
  
After a while, Tom woke with a jolt. Groaning, he rubbed his face. “What was that?”  
  
“I did it,” Violet replied. “I hit your foot.”  
  
“Why?” he moaned. “I was asleep.”  
  
“Look outside, Tom.”  
  
With a deep intake of breath, Tom looked out and burst into a smile. They were passing a tiny town nestled comfortably in between a field so green and natural you could squeeze it to get the most luxurious shade of green paint. The same could be said about the cloudless sky which passed them by with every second.  It was one of those skies which makes people realize how round the earth actually is. The quaint houses with their simple roofs were painted in the same shade as the best lattes in any city. Any painter would have squealed at the opportunity of capturing such a moment.  
  
“It’s beautiful, right?”  
  
Tom looked at Violet with the sun shining on the left side of her face. The bright light showed off her eyes and the plumpness of her lips. As she pulled her shades over her hair, Tom saw that she wore no make up, making her crow’s feet prominent. Instead of looking out, Tom watched Violet as she smiled with her whole face.  
  
 “Breathtaking.”  
  
***  
  
As per instructed, Violet kept her head down as she and Tom walked through Milan’s train station. It was just a short stop there, until they would catch the train to Rome. They looked up at one of the monitors to find the platform with the train that went to Rome. Folding their arms, they watched the screen from the tattered and worn out seats in the waiting lounge. Tom had his face hidden behind shades and an old UNICEF cap he got a few years ago. Forty five minutes had passed, and not a single announcement about the train to Rome.  
  
 An hour and fifteen minutes had gone by, and there was nothing. Violet sighed with her head on Tom’s shoulder (he had allowed it for the time being).  Tom, himself, was dying to get a decent cup of tea or coffee. There was just no point of sitting there like idiots.  
  
“Tom, I’ll check on what’s going on with our train.”  
  
“I’ll go get some coffee. Do you want anything?”  
  
“Iced tea, and a pack of gum.”  
  
“I’ll meet you back here, okay?”  
  
Violet nodded, looking around for the information office, only by reading the signs around her. She asked the woman behind the counter about the train to Rome and why it was taking so long for the screen to show the platform number. The woman gave an uneasy smile before explaining that there was something wrong with the train. There was to be no train going to Rome for today, at least. Violet understood by the way she chose her words that it might take more than a day.  
  
“You could stay here in Milan for the time being,” the woman suggested. “Would you like a map of the city?”  
  
“I have to consult with my friend first. But thank you for the map. I’ll keep it just in case.”  
  
She walked away with the map in her hand. They were stuck in Milan, and she did not want to spend much more time in the train station. Tom should not stay here either, in case anyone saw him. She walked over to where he was sitting and drinking coffee like it was the first coffee he had had in weeks.  
  
“Bad news,” she began. “The train’s broken and it’s not going to be fixed anytime soon.”  
  
“Shit,” he remarked, handing her the bottle of iced tea. “What do we do now?”  
  
“We have to get a hotel or something.”  
  
He leaned back in the chair. “Fuck, Vi. Do we rent a car or something?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she admitted, sitting beside him. She took a sip of her iced tea, watching the different cities appear. City by city crossed her eyes, until they set on one on the names. Violet kept staring at the city as the idea spun around her head. The more she thought of it, the more she liked it. And the train was leaving in two hours.  
  
“Hey, Tom? Remember when you said you can be fun when you need to be?”  
  
“Yeah, why?”  
  
She smiled at him. “Wanna do something crazy?”  
  
“Does it involve getting naked?”  
  
“No,” she chuckled. “There’s a train leaving for Florence in two hours.”  
  
He raised his eyebrow at her, already knowing what was going on in her mind, but he asked anyway. “Why Florence?”  
  
“I’ve always wanted to go to Florence,” she explained. “Let’s do it! Let’s be spontaneous.”  
  
“Vi…”  
  
“Please?” she asked. “For old time’s sake, come with me.”  
  
He looked into her pleading eyes and bit his lip. After a pause, which seemed to last forever, he grinned at her. “For old time’s sake.”


	12. Staying Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter for now. But, I wanted to make up with some Tom/Vi cuteness. Also, pardon the Italian (for I know it not). If there is something I got wrong, feel free to point it out and I shall fix it.   
> (No pizza's were harmed in the making of this chapter)

The sun had long set when Tom and Violet stepped out into the Piazza della Stazione. They walked close to each other, looking around as Florence continued to whizz past them. Neither had any idea in which direction to turn to, where the closest hotel was, or where to get dinner. There was no one to ask for directions, with the exception of a few brochures Violet picked up, and the signs boards, which they tried to comprehend using their rudimentary Italian vernacular. Violet rolled her eyes as she watched Tom squint into the brochure; he slowly sounded out the words in Italian and repeated the sentence to himself to understand it.

It was almost dinner time, and the smell of food was in almost every window of the intricate streets. Violet raised the camera up to take a picture of the old windows. She never got her shot; Tom would not let her. He would pull a face and cover the lens with his hand. He would point at places to take pictures of instead. Violet would roll her eyes and push his hand aside. “You should wait until I show you the pictures I took of you in the train.” 

Chuckling, Tom put a hand to his chest and inhaled deeply. “Look around, Vi; it’s just you and me. There’s no protocol, no bodyguards, no Luke…”

“He’s not that bad,” she protested, tilting her head in his direction.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he began. “It’s just…I’ve been working a lot. I haven’t taken a vacation in a while.”

“We have to remember to get him something to lighten him up.”

Violet gently lowered the camera as she realized that The Baptistery of Saint John stood in front of them. The white marble looked as old as the city itself. Lights from all around lit the piazza as people chatted towards the restaurants and cafes for food and wine. And just beyond the Baptistery was the warm orange of the Duomo of Florence. In her mind, she was fifteen again; the same age when she first heard about the true beauty of the city from that painter in Rome. It was the city that had made her fall in love with art and want to work with art for as long as she could. It was not like she was going to paint there or anything. Her painting skills were shit. What she wanted was to touch the beautiful marble with her fingertips, and trace the lines on the frescos in hopes of finding a quiet secret; a connection the painting made on her, and vice versa.

Tom watched the light from the buildings bounce off Violet’s eyes. Renaissance art history was to her what Shakespeare was to him. He remembered faint moments where she came alive when she started to talk about it before, but now they resonated with even greater magnitude. Her whole face was smiling, showing that faint dimple and those barely there crow’s feet on her square face. Instinctively, he put his arm around her waist. “Happy, Vi?”

Snapping out of it, she looked up and nodded vigorously. “Pretty happy, Tom.”

“Let’s grab a pizza and find a hotel to stay for the night.”

They stepped into a nearby pizzeria a corridor long. On one side was the ovens and dough covered counters with steaming pizzas on them. There were tables for two on the other side, and the wall was covered with mirrors. The Italian flag and paintings of Florence were on the walls, and there were a only a few people sitting there, chatting.

They turned to the old man at the counter, who was all wrinkles and bellowing laughs as he spun the freshly baked dough. He opened his arms wide at the sight of the two of them. “Buonasera! You both are…turisti, no?”

“Si,” Violet smiled.

“Aha. Where…are you…from?”

“She’s from America and I come from Great Britain.”

“Inglese e Americana,” he nodded, kneading the dough. “So…are you two…sposata, no?

“Yes. I mean, no!”

“We’re just friends,” Violet explained.

The man chuckled and gave a little nod. “Ho capito. Jaast friends.”

Violet rolled her eyes, while Tom asked, “Umm, do you know any good hotels here?”

“Why you go to hotels?” he asked. “Bah! They no good. You stay in here. Above pizzeria.”

“We can’t,” Violet protested. “Really, it’s all right.”

“It’s better than hotel,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Maria! Nina!”

A woman appeared in the pizzeria from the alley. The older of the two was gorgeously tan, and like the old man, was all smiles. But, the most noticeable aspect about her was her hands. They were firm and calloused; they showed a woman who had used those hands all her life. She had them clasped together as she came in and yelled at the man in hurried speech. Violet had noticed her call him “Gio” in the beginning. She scooted a little closer to Tom as the two “discussed” (argued was more like it).

The other person, Nina, as Violet understood, came downstairs. Walking in, Violet noticed that she was a younger than her, early 20’s with long dark dresses and subtle curves. Casually, she turned to the source of commotion, and her eyes widened as they fixed on Tom. She covered her mouth, slowly walking towards Tom. Violet assumed she was a fan.

“Tom Hiddleston is in my parents’ pizza shop,” she muttered under her breath.

Violet held his hand tight, ready to run and drag him along if necessary. Tom gave a little gulp. “Erm. Hello.”

“Hello,” she smiled, nodding.

“Nina, you know this man?” Gio asked.

“He’s an actor, papa,” she replied. “I went to go see that film of his, remember?”

“Look, if there’s any problem-”

“Tom,” Violet tugged on his hand. “May I speak with you for a moment? In the corner?”

Pulling him aside, she looked at him anxiously whilst the three argued with each other at the counter. “We’ve got to get out of here. Before you’re held for ransom and they make a skin suit out of me.”

“What happened to spontaneity?” he asked. “This whole ‘winging it’ thing was your idea.”

“That was before I considered the prospect of being in a real-life version of an Italian mobster movie!”

“Don’t worry, Vi. Just stay close, alright? I won’t let any big bad mobster get anywhere near your skin, I promise.”

“And I promise that no one’s going to take you for ransom. If there’s anything fishy, we run, all right?”

“Alright, let’s just see what happens.”

He did not let go of her hand, though; he wanted to hold on just as much. Meanwhile, Nina and her mother came up to them. “So, Nina tells us you are an actor.”

“We just want to lay low; we don’t mean to cause any trouble,” Tom explained.

“We live above here. And we do have an extra room,” Nina explained.

“A room?” Violet asked.

“It’s got a double bed and a couch, if you want to sleep separately.”

“But we don’t want to stay for free. We couldn’t,” Tom insisted.

“We’ll decide that in the morning,” Maria said. “And don’t you worry a bit. No one will know you two are here.”

“We promise,” Nina added.

“It is late, Tom,” Violet yawned.

“And it’s tourist season,” Maria remarked. “There might not be lott’a good rooms available…”

Tom and Violet murmured to each other, and they nodded together. Nina led them up the stairs, squealing under her breath as they followed her. She led them through the door, into their home. Long gone was the sounds of the cars, mopeds and people, and there was only quiet. The door opened into the mustard yellow living room, with old leather couches and family pictures. There was a big, blue glass sculpture next to the tiny television. All over the walls and on the side tables were pictures of family: black and white, colored, grainy, high definition, all with familiar faces and similar smiles. Maria showed them into the turquoise guest room with a tiny balcony on the other side of the curtain covered glass doors. She let her guests freshen up before she fed them proper food (“you two are skin and bones, I tell you”).

Huffing, Violet plopped onto the bed, letting her luggage fall with a thud. “We’re gonna die, Tom.”

Tom lay next to her, staring at her. “We’re not, Vi. Jesus, you’re the one who brought us here, and you’re being a spoil sport about it.”

“I am not,” she argued, turning to him. “I’m just trying to protect you from getting hurt.”

“We’re in this together,” he replied, lacing his fingers with hers. “If we come to a life and death situation…I’m pushing you in front and making a run for it.”

She snorted. “And here I thought you were a perfect gentleman.”

“I can be,” he murmured, biting his lower lip.

Violet looked up at the man she had once made love to, finding herself sprawled on the bed like before. The damn fucker did not even have to graze her leg, or even kiss her to get her in bed. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she knew that much. The old feelings had not returned, but Violet realized that they were not feelings at all. That was infatuation, adrenaline, and a promise that things would never be personal between them. This, what she was feeling at that moment, was a feeling: something not described in words, but in vivid colors and blaring trumpets. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and the new frown lines. He had aged, from the smiley, obnoxiously optimistic newcomer, to a respected and wise actor. Smiling, she sat up. “So, I’m taking the couch.”

“You don’t have to, Vi. Seriously, it’s no big deal.”

“Honey, you’re not going to fit there. Your head’s going to keep banging against the wall, and your feet are going to dangle on the other side.”

“If you insist,” he shrugged, getting up, and going towards the glass doors. Violet was about to walk into the bathroom when Tom called her. “Vi, come here.”

“What if I have to pee?”

He peered out of the glass doors, rolling his eyes. “Just hold it in for a while and come see this.”

Violet sighed, walking in his direction. “Are you sure there’s enough space for two? It doesn’t look like it.”

He held out his hand through the door. She took it, and the first thing she saw was the cathedral dome. It was closer than ever now, and the starry sky seemed only another stairway away. The street down below was still filled with people, and the artificial lights tried to mimic the glory of the sky above.

Tom beamed, looking around; this was perfect. He could not remember the last time he was this hidden from everything. In one way, he was glad he did not go on vacation for a while, because then he might not have been this exhilarated to be here. In fucking Florence, of all places! He crouched, putting his elbows on the balcony. “It’s so peaceful tonight, right, Vi?”

She nodded, looking at him sheepishly. “Tom?”

“Need to pee?”

“Please?” she scrunched her face.

He chuckled. “Go.”

Later that night, both tossed and turned in their sleep after being force fed their body weight in food. The couch was a little lumpy, and Violet could not quite find a good position to shift her weight. Tom could not sleep because he kept hearing the couch creak noisily when she turned. “Vi,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Can’t sleep?”

“The couch is a little…stiff.”

“Come up, then.”

“Tom…”

“It’s not going to mean anything. You better choose between a stiff back, or me.”

She thought for a moment before shuffling out and crawling under the covers.

“Vi, I can’t move.”

“That’s ‘cause Maria’s going to eat us,” she giggled. “With a sprinkle of tarragon.”

“But I’m too pretty to be had with tarragon. I deserve basil, at least.”

“Freak,” she muttered with a smile on her face, before turning to the side and falling asleep.


	13. Catching up, and Other Skirmishes

With a yawn, Violet opened her eyes, still sticky with sand. Rubbing them, she focused on the dust particles which were dancing in the sunlight. Tom lay next to her, still snoring slightly, with his hand resting on the pillow. They had been at this same place before, so much so that at one point it was almost as natural as breathing. He would open one eyelid, and then another, and then a yawn.  His arms would stretch towards her, pushing his palm in her face. While Violet would groan and push it away, Tom would laugh, and they would exchange ‘good mornings.’  
  
Time had altered both with its ways: Violet’s hair was shorter and lighter, Tom’s hair was shorter, and he was tanner. This was probably from spending a lot of time in LA for the past few years. Violet noticed his dark circles droop under his eyes, and the little wrinkles that had not been there before. She could not stop staring at them; they disrupted the memory she had of the fresh faced, up and coming actor she began to fall in love with a few years back.  
  
“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled.  
  
“I’m not staring,” Violet retorted. “I was thinking.”  
  
“That’s not your thinking face,” he remarked, opening his eyes. “I know your thinking face.”  
  
She sat up, leaning against the headboard. “Did you sleep okay?”  
  
“This is the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks,” he replied, grabbing her face with his hand. “Your face feels so soft.”  
  
Violet rolled her eyes, pushing his hand away. “Been doing a lot of night shoots, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” he sighed.  
  
“Well…maybe you’ve been overworking yourself,” she mentioned, masking her concern.  
  
Tom licked his lips. “Maybe.”  
  
Sliding off the bed, Violet’s toes curled under the soft carpet underneath. She ran her fingers through her hair, yanking on her tangles as she walked to the window. The sun, which was hidden behind the curtains, marched into the room like any jovial Italian would. And, just like the people in the country, the sun was buzzing, busy and loud as it stomped around the room. Tom smiled at the warmth around him. These were the few moments he enjoyed the sunshine, before it would reduce him to a puddle of sweat on the floor.  
  
Violet changed into dark capris, and a floral top which hung on her frame, with her breasts peeking out slightly. She walked into the kitchen, greeted by Nina’s and Maria’s chatter before their faces. Nina and Maria sat opposite each other on stools with her elbows in identical fashion on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Maria looked up at Violet and smiled. “ _Buongiorno_ , Viola.”  
  
“ _Buongiorno_ ,” she smiled, sitting next to her. “And, it’s Violet.”  
  
“I hope you two slept all right,” Nina said. “Was Tom okay with everything?”  
  
“We slept pretty well, actually.”  
  
“You know, Veronica,” Maria began. “Vey few turisti sleep well here, what with all the noise from the piazza.”  
  
“Vi-” Violet began to correct, but was interrupted by Tom entering the kitchen. He sat down next to Nina. “Good morning, ladies.”  
  
“Hi Tom,” spilled out from Nina’s mouth. It came out faster than she anticipated, and she covered her mouth to hide the tinge on her cheeks.  
  
Maria stood up. “Good that you two are here; I can make breakfast…quiet! I’m not gonna let you talk me out of it. ”  
  
“There’s no reasoning with her;  _essa è piuttosto caparbio_.”  
  
Maria glared at her and muttered something quick, which Violet could not understand. Tom, on the other hand, chuckled as he drank his orange juice. “So, what are we doing today?”  
  
“Oh, do I have the honor of getting to choose what we’re doing today?”  
  
“Yeah, I figured, you wanted to come here for such a long time, so we can do it your way.”  
  
“You are too kind,” she replied melodramatically.  
  
Shortly after breakfast, Tom and ‘Vincenza’ (“Maria, my name is Violet.”) went down the creaky stairs into the street. They waved at Gio, and promised to be back before dinner. They had decided on walking to the Boboli Gardens, and seeing where everything went from there. Tom stayed close to Violet as ever, and would duck his head down where the crowds were denser. She watched his movements, how he tensed when people randomly looked at him, and relaxed in the more open areas. _He must be really used to this_ , she thought. Her hands entwined with his, and squeezed them a little. He raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“You. Lighten up a little, Tom. Everything’s going to be okay.”  
  
“I’m all right,” he assured. “Seriously.”  
  
“Whatever you say.”  
  
At the beginning of Via Por Santa Maria, Violet raised her camera to the tower hidden in an alleyway, opposite the outlet stores and faceless mannequins. She walked in its direction, transfixed by its size, and wondered what it was and why she had never heard of it. Tom, who stood in place to read the map, looked up to see Violet walking in another direction, and hurried after her. “Planning on leaving me behind?”  
  
“What is that place?”  
  
He traced his finger on the place he was before and trailed it along the little grey line on the side. “This is supposed to lead to the Palazzo Vecciho.”  
  
Violet looked around, noticing the marble statues, elevated in their grand gestures. She gripped his hand and began walking in their direction. “Let’s go; I wanna take a look at the statues.”  
  
Tom scanned the square. Not many people were present, but they were gathering quickly. He pulled her back; his arm overpowered hers. Violet furrowed her brows. “What was that about?”  
  
“Umm. You know what, Vi? We can come back here on the way back. It’ll…it’ll be nicer in the evening.”  
  
“But, they’ll be a lot of people in the evening. There’s hardly anyone here.”  
  
“Please?” he said, looking nauseated.  
  
She sighed. “Fine, whatever.”  
  
Before they turned back onto the street, Violet took one last look at the tower. What’s his problem? she thought to herself. _I’ve never seen him so paranoid_. Tom had let go of Violet’s hand, now that he was sure they were walking in the same direction. He still towered over everyone else, though (“Just like a frost giant,” Violet teased). Mopeds, buses, and cars crossed them as they reached the Lungarno degli Acciaiuoli.  Violet turned from crossing the bridge to the Fiume Arno River, and took pictures of the faded mustard brown and white buildings. They looked like someone had clumsily glued them in place, and the buildings over the river were chipped. She gripped the brick wall, which served as a boundary between land and water. The wind blew threw her hair, and she closed her eyes, taking in the symphony of salty sounds, noises and smells which the river had to offer her.  
  
“It is pretty breathtaking, isn’t it?” Tom smiled, hugging her from behind.  
  
She nodded, looking up at him with a smile on her face. Realizing what he was doing, he let go of her, only to have Violet hugged him back, burying her head in his shoulder. “Thank you, for this.”  
  
“You were the one who decided to forget about Rome and come here.”  
  
She let go of him. “What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It isn’t supposed to mean anything.”  
  
“Then why does it sound like you’d rather be in Rome?”  
  
“Vi, you’re taking this the wrong way. All I’m saying is Rome would have been fun too.”  
  
“But we’re here now. Is that not good enough?”  
  
“I made plans, booked tours.”  
  
“And now, when we are finally doing something I want to do, you’re being a dick.”  
  
“I’m not being a dick!”  
  
“You keep turning away, whenever I want to see something. You’re looking at people as if any of them could pop out and hound you with cameras and autographs.”  
  
“I’m just being careful. You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
“The hell I don’t! That’s because you’re not letting me.”  
  
“It’s because you’re so thick headed sometimes!”  
  
“God, Tom!” Violet fumed. Turning away from him, she walked quickly over the Ponte Vecchio with her head down. Even after crossing the Ponte, she focused only on the cobblestone street, instead of the street names. Tom had the map; she just kept going where she wanted to go. She did not need him, and as far as she was concerned, he could hop on a train to Rome all by himself.  
  
Tom had stayed where Violet had left him. He breathed deeply, whilst running his fingers through his hair.  _What good would it do to stay here?_  he thought to himself.  _This trip wasn’t for you, you tit. This trip was for Violet, and for starting things over properly. Hell, you were supposed to ask her out, not piss her off._  
  
He turned back onto the Ponte, hoping he could find Violet. It’s not like they could call each other; their phones were off. Violet could be anywhere, and he lost her.  _You tit._  
  
Skimming the crowd, he tried to look for Violet’s face, or her top, or her smile. No; she would not be smiling right now. He tried to find her deep red bag, or her worn out Vans. But she wasn’t there on anyone’s face. Tom’s eyes darted everywhere, till he reached the same place from where Violet had gone the wrong way. Pitti Palace and Boboli Gardens was that way, but something told him that Violet was not there.  
  
He was about to walk in its direction anyway, if not for the man by the souvenir cart. “The Bella. She go to Via dei Bardi.”  
  
“What did she look like?” he asked urgently.  
  
“Short hair, red bag. She talk to herself. Very, very angry.”  
  
“That’s probably her,” he nodded. “ _Grazie mille_.”  
  
He walked down the Via dei Bardi, gripping the strap of this rucksack. It took him a while, but he could make out a figure storming her way down the street. He ran towards her faster once he finally saw her back. “Violet!”  
  
“Forget it,” she muttered, not looking back.  
  
He came in front of her and held her in place. His voice became gentler as he wrapped his arms around her. “Please don’t be mad.”  
  
“Yeah? What should I do, then?”  
  
“Forgive me,” he mumbled, sinking his head in between her neck and shoulder.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I forgot why I came here. I haven’t really been…used to spontaneity these days.”  
  
“Tom, when was the last time you took a vacation?”  
  
He raised his head, smiling weakly at her. “A while. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out without protocol. I just get paranoid.”  
  
“And your friends and family?”  
  
“I see them as much as I can. But I haven’t allowed myself a formal holiday for a long time.”  
  
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her hands around his waist now.  
  
“I dunno,” he admitted. “I didn’t see the point, to be honest. Work has been the only thing that interests me these days.”  
  
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep at it like a machine.”  
  
“I know,” he replied. “It’s been pretty crazy.”  
  
 “You must be having a really hard time doing nothing right now.”  
  
“I like being with you, Vi. It’s been different…the good kind of different.”  
  
She smiled, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?”  
  
“You could forgive me?” he suggested.  
  
“You’re forgiven,” she nodded. “What do we do now?”  
  
“We…I…think we went the wrong way.”  
  
“Well, the road ahead looks nice.”  
  
Tom bit his lip. “You know what, let’s do it. No fussing, I promise.”  
  
As they went further, more shrubs and flowers appeared; they were nearing a villa of some sort. Tom took out the map, and together with Violet, traced the path they took. This was not Boboli Gardens, but the Bardini Gardens, which was a short distance from Pitti palace. Nevertheless, the place was oozing with lush green trees. It was quieter than the streets of Florence, and the tree branches danced whichever direction the wind blew. Walking further, Tom and Violet found two marble statues overlooking a view of Florence, so much grander than the one Violet saw on the Lungarno degli Acciaiuoli. The hills looked like they were green giants who had been taking a nap for centuries whilst little houses were constructed on them. A church stuck out in the middle of tightly packed houses of white and yellow. The Fiume river ran lazily below, with nothing to do and nowhere to be, much like Tom and Violet.  
  
  “Take a look at that,” Tom exclaimed in awe, his hands gripping the railing.  
  
“There’s some stairs,” Violet pointed out. “And there has to be a ticket stand somewhere too.”  
  
After buying the tickets, they noticed a little corner of stone, atop a staircase. Hidden amongst trees, it consisted of only a small stone table, and railings made of eroding stone. A tiny layer of moss grew on them, and yellow flowers peeked out of the cracks. Violet sat on the table, taking a few snapshots around, before turning the camera towards Tom gulping down water from his water bottle.  
  
“I should be the one taking ugly pictures of you,” he remarked, holding his arm out for the camera.  
  
“This one was kind of cute,” she remarked. “Trust me, I’ve taken uglier.  
  
 “Give it.”  
  
“I won’t; you’ll just delete my pictures.”  
  
“I promise, I won’t.”  
  
He held the camera while she ran her through her hair, with her leg out, and puckered her lips.  “The sixties called, Vi. They want their poses back.”  
  
“Says you!” she grinned, placing her hands on her hips and puffing up her chest. She erupted into giggles seconds after the flash. “I never get a bad picture.”  
  
Raising his eyebrows, he inspected the pictures. “You might have won this round, Vi. But I am going to take a bad picture of you and have it framed.”  
  
“You’d keep a picture of me?”  
  
“I would.”  
  
“What do I have to do? Go out with you?”  
  
“Would you?” he asked, in all seriousness. “Go out with me, I mean?”  
  
She smiled. “Depends. You haven’t asked.”  
  
“Then,” he began, coming towards her. “Would you?”  
  
Her smile faded. “Go out with you?”  
  
“Properly. I could take you out to dinner, and we could start over.”  
  
“Tom…” she groaned, looking away. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”  
  
“Just this once. If it is that horrible…don’t look at me like that. Seriously, just this once, and then we’ll know for sure. For me?”


	14. Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: it does get a little suggestive at a parts, so read responsibly.

“All right, Tom,” she sighed.  
  
Tom paused, biting his lip; he honestly had not prepared himself for this. _Bloody hell, now what do I do?_  
  
Violet hopped off the table and rubbed his arm. “Tom?”  
  
“I’m sorry, it’s just…goodness. We are truly doing this.”  
  
“Yep,” she nodded. “Just try not to spill the drinks over my dress, like you did in New York.”  
  
“I did it by accident! But it got your attention, didn’t it?”  
  
“You know, now that I think of it, I was ogling someone else, and you kept getting in the way,” she retorted, nudging him in the arm. “So, when does this date start? Preferably when I’m not so hot and sweaty.”  
  
“I dunno, Vi. It’s kind of cute when you’re all hot and sweaty.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “You are so _gross.”_  
  
 _They_ asked the ticket counter attendant about the directions to Pitti Palace. It seemed useless not to go where they originally intended. The attendant narrowed his eyes at Tom, who stood a few feet away from Violet with hunched shoulders. He remembered his face from somewhere, though his bulkier frame and gingerish-blonde hair did not match the image in his head. “Have I seen you somewhere?”  
  
Tom’s head snapped up in his direction. Without a hint of hesitation, he chuckled and broke into a lopsided smile. “Erm…I don’t think so,” he replied in an accent Violet was pretty sure came out of a Pacino movie.  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry, sir; my mistake. You take that road on the left and you’ll reach the Piazza del Pitti. It’s just a few minutes walk from there to the Palace.”  
  
They followed the pathway, the blazing sun hidden behind trees. The distant chattering of tourists were replaced with the humming of the birds flying over them to reach the house rooftops. The houses themselves formed a bright, mustard maze, with walls of different sizes. A few cars and bicycles passed Tom and Violet, drawing them closer to one another. Violet peeked from under her glasses at Tom, who looked back, shrugging. Smiling, she wrapped an arm around his waist, slipping her finger in his belt loop. Tom raised an eyebrow in her direction, but lifted his arm up, and let it rest over her shoulder. He toyed with the fabric on her blouse and wondered if it was too soon to place a kiss on her temple, or even rest his head on hers.  
  
“I thought you were all hot and sweaty.”  
  
“I thought you liked it.”  
  
“Vi, what happened back there-”  
  
“What happened was that you thought on your feet; that’s good.”  
  
“You think so?”  
  
Grinning, she nodded up at him. She wondered whether it was too soon to nuzzle against his shirt and run her fingers through his curls, twirling each in between her fingers despite how sweaty they would be right now. He seemed to be okay with her coming close to him; he did not push her away or make up some excuse about the weather. She let out a sigh and let everything melt together as they walked together like that, not a word being said between the two of them. Violet even brought up her hand and laced it with the hand Tom had over her shoulder. This was how a vacation should be, they thought to themselves, catching the other staring. Violet scrunched up her nose and bared her teeth, letting out a feline-like hiss.  
  
“That’s what she said,” he retorted, breaking into laughter.  
  
“Omigod, Tom!” Violet exclaimed, muffling her mouth and failing to suppress her laughter. “I thought you made me promise that we weren’t going to do that!”  
  
He twisted his barely-there whiskers, contorting his lips into a ridiculous smile. “Ohohohoho…but, Violet! I am the God of Mischief.”  
  
“Yes, yes. And, I’m burdened with sharing a bed with said ‘God of Mischief’.”  
  
“You drove me bananas with that line.”  
  
“It’s not like I did much damage,” she quipped, smirking. “You were pretty crazy when I met you.”  
  
Soon, though, the main road was in sight. Violet knew she had to pull away; a single look or a photograph of the crappiest pixel could ruin their fun. It was for Tom too; she could feel him stiffening his posture against her. Like a meaningless apology, she pulled away and made a gap between them.

Tom felt her fingers brush against his before she pulled away. In his mind, there was no emptiness. It was her and it was him. It was her caressing his back, and nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck. It was him who kissed her all over her face, brushing his nose against hers. And, those eyes! Grey, but whenever the light shone on them, the colors would bounce against her irises.  
  
Tom tried to think about Luke _. God no, not Luke in Violet’s clothes; that’s disgusting._ He tried to picture him, standing there in a corner and folding his arms. Now was the time Luke was needed the most; to scold both of them for not thinking straight. He’d grown so used to Luke grabbing Tom’s arm and turning him to the direction he needed to be going. Or maybe the reason he did not come was because the direction he was going by himself was not as bad as the consequences he imagined said ‘direction’ to have.  
  
“Tom, look,” Violet said, nudging his arm. “That, on the souvenir cart.”  
  
“What? What is it?” he asked, focusing on the cart.  
  
“Those boxers,” she pointed out, giggling. “I know a certain publicist who would love them.”  
  
On the corner of the cart was a pair of boxers flying in the wind. Like the Italian flag, they were green, white and red. Only, in the white center was a picture of the Statue of David’s penis, in its marblesque glory.  
  
“He is going to kill you, and make it look like an accident.”  
  
“I’d love to see him try,” she replied, walking over to the cart and tracing her fingers against the sides of the shorts. “How much?”  
  
“Fifteen Euros,” he said.  
  
“What?! Ten,” Violet demanded.  
  
“I didn’t know you liked to haggle, Vi.”  
  
“Mama didn’t raise no fool,” she quipped, turning to the seller. “All right, how about twelve euros.”  
  
“C’mon! Iss only fifteen, huh? I sell cheap, you know.”  
  
“I’m sure you do. But how about you meet me halfway?” She shrugged her shoulders, smiling wide. “For pretty bella like me.”  
  
He let out a chuckle. “Ten Euros, then.”  
  
She pulled money out of her wallet, and handed it to him for the bag he gave her. “Grazi.”  
  
He waved to her as she walked away with Tom. “That was fun.”  
  
“Tell me, do you always flirt with men when you want things done your way?”  
  
“You getting jealous, Twiddles?” she quipped, biting her lip.  
  
“So jealous,” he laughed, as they approached the Palace.  
  
**  
  
“And then, it was all going well until Vi fell in the pool,” explained Tom to Gio, as Gio worked behind the corner.  
  
“I believe I managed to save myself before it was too late,” Violet said, biting into a piece of garlic bread.  
  
“Whatever helps the ship stay afloat,” Tom smirked, sneaking a piece of her bread. “Gio, I saw on the map that Piazza del Michelangelo is a pretty nice place to go.”  
  
“It is,” he nodded. “Very romantic, though.”  
  
“Sunset must be nice to watch from there,” Violet suggested. “If you wanna go, that is.”  
  
“Sure,” he replied.  
  
“If you two want to do something romantic together, I know something you could do right now.”  
  
“Uh-huh? Like what?” Violet asked, her eyes shining with amusement.  
  
Gio motioned Tom to come towards him. “Come cook for Violet, Thomas. That’s how I got _il mio amore_.”  
  
“Tom’s cooked for me a few times before, Gio.”  
  
“Not my way,” he replied. “Come now!”  
  
Tom took an apron from the rack and joined Gio on the other side. Violet peeked from the counter at the hill of flour with the egg in the middle. Gio explained how his family had been making pasta from scratch, using the exact recipe he used. Sometimes he would switch to Italian, and Tom would pretend to nod for the sake of being polite. Violet, too, hoped that he wouldn’t fuck it up. She watched Tom bunch the flour in his hands, trying to mold the grains into decent dough. Gio gave him a burly slap on the back, pushing him lower. “Like you mean it, Thomas. Fold, and knead…like that, only slower…good.”  
  
Violet leaned over the counter to watch Tom.  He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. A little bit of flour stuck to his glistening forehead as Tom kneaded on, furrowing his brow in concentration. On Tom’s other side was Gio, who miraculously cleaned himself in no time.  Folding his arms, he beamed at Tom’s attempt to replicate his technique, pride seeping out of his crinkles. They exchanged glances and laughed, making sure not a single sound was let out from their mouths.  
  
“Now that the dough is made, we are going to use the machine to make the fettuccini,“ he told Tom. “It’sa nice and cheesy. And women, they love’a the CHEESE!”  
  
Violet nodded fervently to his statement.  
  
“You impressed yet, Violet?”  
  
“Watching you grunt and press the soft dough…the sweat dripping off your temples. Oh, it gets me so…hungry.”  
  
“You’re always hungry, Vi.”  
  
“That's saying something, isn't it?” she winked.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he turned to the pasta maker, his back facing Violet. Her attention focused on his jeans, hugging his firm legs. She bit her lip as her eyes ran from his parted legs, to his worn out shoes. He was turning the pasta machine, his body swaying back and forth with the movements of the hands. Closing her eyes, she took the place of the machine, with her against the wall. It was her that he was working, with his hands groping her ass as her legs entangled with his. She thought about putting her arms around his shoulders as he pounded into her, his grunting silent enough for only her to hear. His thin lips would slither their way to her ear, sucking her lobe. Occasionally he would stop to whisper in her ear, telling her she was filthy, and she belonged to him. A quick spank on her butt cheek would seal it; she was his. She wanted to be his again, more thorough; she wanted to be his alone.  
  
 It was too late to keep a “friendly” distance. Not after today. The only problem was how to make it happen without coming across as the horny fuck she really was. And after that little pasta making demonstration, she had to remember to keep her breathing steady. Gio was right: this is a great way to get girls.  
  
“ _Fantastico, amico mio!_ Fantastic, my friend. I will boil the pasta, and tonight, you two feast.”  
  
“Won’t you three be joining us?” Violet asked.  
  
“Too little pasta for all of us,” Gio replied. “I think you two should eat it together.”  
  
“Oh,” said Violet, looking over to where Tom was slicing the tomatoes.  
  
Gio patted Tom’s back, leaving a much softer blow. He passed a knowing wink in Violet’s direction. Violet could feel her cheeks redden at the thought of Gio reading her mind. People can’t do that, right? she thought to herself. Right?  
  
Food finished, Gio took that as a cue to leave. He told them to knock when they were done, and left, leaving a scent of fresh basil behind him. On Violet’s order, Tom kept his apron on as they sat down in one of the tables at the end of the restaurant. Gio gave them permission to close the restaurant a little while after the dinner rush so that they could stay away from any lurking tourists. Tom passed Violet a plate and sat across her, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “Fettuccine Alfredo.”  
  
Grinning, she picked up her fork. “Be sure to give my compliments to the chef.”  
  
He chuckled, looking around. “This is a great place for a date, though. It’s like a little doughy corner of the city where you can shut everything out.”  
  
“It would be nice,” Violet admitted. But I know a lot about you already.”  
  
“Okay, then,” he nodded. I’ll just tell you things I haven’t told you.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Oh, nothing much to tell,” he replied. “I still can’t work the bloody washing machine, I love watching rugby with my dad, and I’ve been….I’ve been traveling a lot lately. What about you?”  
  
“Uhh…let’s see. My first crush was Bruce Wayne; I was five at the time, just so you know. I’m a horrible baker, and a much better cook, because I always leave things in the oven too long. And, I don’t know if I can ever keep a dog.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I was this big,” she replied, raising her hand to a height. “My great aunt’s dog, Caesar, was this big.” She raised her hand by double the height.  
  
“I’m actually a huge dog person,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I never seem to find the time to keep one because I travel so much.”  
  
“I haven’t really done much traveling either, with work.”  
  
“I have got to say, I think I've really begun to fall in love with Florence.”  
  
“So, then, Have you seen anything interesting I should look out for?”  
  
Smiling, he tried (and failed) to hide the flush which spread across his cheeks, making his freckles pop out more. “I’ve seen something.”  
  
“Something?”  
  
“Well…someone, really.”  
  
“She sounds interesting. Or he; I don’t judge.”  
  
“She,” he nodded. “I saw her today, taking pictures of random things. I saw her again, gazing at the Arno and the colorful buildings on them. I also saw her going red because of some arsewipe she was arguing with. And when everything was sorted, I saw…what looked to me like a chance with her. An arsewipe like me, with someone like her.”  
  
“Toooom,” she said, looking at the plate, smiling so hard it almost hurt.  
  
Tom leaned forward. “Yes, Violet?”  
  
“I think…something tells me… that you actually have a pretty good chance with her.”  
  
“Truly?”  
  
“Truly,” she nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: The boxers are real. I've seen them when I was in Florence in '09. You can still get it at Amazon, I think.


	15. Let us Go Then, You and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't this just take the longest time? Don't worry; it's a long chapter. My beta seems to have disappeared for a bit, so I tried my best to edit it. When she gets back to me, I'll tweek the chapter. I just can't wait for you guys to read it! Also, I hope google translate hasn't failed me; I tried to be as accurate as possible.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, Vi?”

“You’re hugging me.”

“That’s because,” he mumbled, nuzzling into her back. “You’re huggable.”

“Tom, I’m serious,” she smiled, unwrapping his fingers from her waist. “We’re still taking it slow, remember?”

“We can take it slow in five more minutes,” he yawned, his curls brushing against the small of her back.

 Her shirt rode up some time in the night because of her constant fidgeting she did when she was asleep. Tom’s fingers danced over the soft flesh of her waist, making small circles as his hands came back to their old haunt. It was one of those mornings when the bed refused to let go of them, trapping them in its ocean of sheets. Violet turned to face him. She squirmed in place, trying to find a decent place for both her arms to fit in between her and Tom. Giving up, she wrapped them around his neck

 _“How did we get here?”_ Violet pondered, toying with his curls. _“However it happened; it feels good. Like home.”_

“That feels nice,” he whispered, pressing his nose to her forehead.

“Tell me about it,” she grimaced, looking up. Her nose brushed against his, making her lower her head so that Tom could not see her blush.

“Listen, Vi,” he began. “Maria and Nina promised to spend the morning and afternoon with you.”

“Oh, okay. Is something up with you, though?”

 “Everything’s fine…don’t look at me like that; I promise it’s fine. They told me that they want to show you The San Lorenzo Basilica, and the Medici chapel. It’s supposed to be this beautiful place with lots of Renaissance art.”

“I don’t really mind going with Maria or Nina, but don’t you want to come with me?” 

“I’ll try to make it to lunch with you three, but I need to fix the train tickets.”

“Oh,” she remarked. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“We should. I better get back before they need me again.”

“I understand. But, I can come with you to get the tickets, and to make sure you don’t get lost.”

“It’s just something I want to do myself. I’ll be quick, and I’ll make it to lunch with you three.”

“Are you sure _you’re_ not the one who’s making the skin suits?”

“Eheheheh, no darling. I’ll have you all to myself in the evening.”

“Fine,” she sighed melodramatically. “I trust you, because that’s the kind of person I am. I like being open about things.”

Chuckling, he left a little peck on her forehead. “I know you trust me. Relax, and have a nice day.”

***

“The girls are gone, Gio,” Tom declared, leaning against the restaurant walls. He watched Violet’s figure getting smaller, the fabric of her dress which swayed with the wind as she walked. Maria still had not figured out her name, and Violet just stopped trying as of this morning. Tom gave her shoulder a little squeeze before she left, and hoped she would remember that not everyone was used to her sarcasm as him.

Yesterday, after they had come from the gardens, Tom watched the sunset from the window of the living room. He could not get a proper look for the Duomo; the other buildings blocked his way. Nina must have seen his frustration somehow, because she let out a little cough.

“The sunset is actually beautiful here. It’s just…there are nicer places to see it from than this place.”

“Like where?”

“You could go to Piazzale Michelangelo. It’s one of the most beautiful places here.”

Tom stared at Violet, who was in their room, looking at the pictures they had taken earlier in the day. She was wearing a goofy grin as she saw each frame, shaking her head on occasion. “It’s…romantic, right?”

“Oh **sì** ,” Nina nodded. “A lot of couples go there. My boyfriend takes me there when I am upset with him.”

He chuckled. “Nina, do you think Violet would like it?”

“I think so. But don’t walk all the way there; it’s too long.”

“So, take a taxi?”                                                        

“Papa’s friend is a taxi driver. You should ask him to take you.”

Nodding, Tom got off the chair to Maria. He pulled her outside the house, closing the door behind him. “Maria, I need yours and Nina’s help for tomorrow.”

Maria smiled, gripping his chin in her hand, and shaking his head. “Caro mio, what do you have in mind?”

“I want to take Violet to the Piazzale Michelangelo. Maybe dinner and dancing afterwards.”

“Dancing, huh? How sweet,” she replied, squeezing cheeks together. “You are such a nice boy, Thomas.”

“That’s very lovely of you to say that,” he blushed. “So, I need to distract Violet, while I arrange a few things. You know, to make it…speciale.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “You must speak with Gio. He was a so romantic as a young man. Tall, handsome; just like’a you!”

“Bless you, Maria. You truly are an angel,” he beamed, kissing her cheek. “So you’ll do it.

“For you, anything!”

The toy-like taxi outside the restaurant squawked as it parked next to the restaurant. A short, bald Italian mad hopped out and walked towards the door. A gold chain hung around his neck, and a fake Rolex clinked about as his massive hands went back and forth. Bursting in, he shook hands with a few other employees before engulfing Gio in a hug. Tom tilted his head to the side a bit, wondering how a person of his size could make someone as burly as Gio almost lose his balance. Despite being a hugger, Tom was not looking forward to getting a hug from this guy.

“Aldo, meet Thomas,” said Gio. “Aldo is best driver in Florence, no problem.”

“Look at you!” he yelled, gaping up at him, like children did. “So tall! Like’a Roman king!”

Smiling, Tom remembered being Coriolanus a few years back. The fighting sequence, and the lines crept back into his mind as he extended his hand forward. “Grazie, Aldo. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

Aldo beckoned him to come closer, down to his height. Crouching a little, he held out his hand for him. Aldo proceeded to pat his cheeks together, like Maria did. He kissed Tom on both cheeks, and embraced him, bringing him to his knees. Tom blinked a few times, trying to process what just happened. As Aldo backed away, Tom grabbed his jaw, moving it a little. He could have snapped it in two with all the strength he had in his gigantic hands.

“You wanna take Bella to Piazzale Michelangelo?” Aldo asked, smacking him in the back. “Ah! We were like that once, eh? What you tink’ happened?”

“Maria and I are still young in the bedroom,” Gio chuckled, pointing a finger at Aldo. Aldo muttered something in Italian which Tom could only classify as being dirty. Biting his lip, he managed a half-ass smile as Gio and Aldo deliberated in fast past Italian. Tom could feel his inner Englishman ooze out while they yelled at each other without actually being angry with each other.

“It’s settled,” Gio nodded. “You and Violet will be there well before sunset. Aldo will stay with you; take you where you need to go.”

“That’s great,” he nodded, beaming. “Thank you so much for doing this. It will make Violet extremely happy.”

Aldo nudged his waist with his elbow. “Careful with this Bella, eh? Once she sees me… non hai nessuna possibilità con lei. ”

Tom smiled uneasily. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Aldo chuckled. “It is done. “Luca, tre caffè! One for me, one for Gio, and one for our new friend.”

“It’s all right; I had coffee in the morning,” Tom insisted.

“Luca make better,” he assured him.

While Aldo sat down, Gio rubbed Tom’s shoulder, motioning two fingers in Luca’s direction. “He’s like a big dog, Aldo. But, he no bite.”

“I still have to find someplace nice for dinner,” he remarked. “Not that…you don’t have an excellent restaurant, which you do.”

A deep chuckle escaped Gio’s throat. “S’ok, Thomas. It’s your choice.”

“To be honest, I’m a little frightened to ask him for a lift to the train station.”

Aldo’s head snapped up “Hmmm, who say ‘lift’? I give lift.”

 _“Maybe I should have kept Vi with me,”_ he thought to himself as he got into the cab. He had to hunch to fit in the back seat. Even with Tom clutching his knees together, Violet would hardly be able at the back with him. She would probably have to sit in between his legs (not that he minded that), and cling on to him for support (definitely would not mind that). The car bobbed through the street, whirring past tour buses and scooters. At one point, Aldo slammed the break, causing Tom to bang his cheek against the passenger’s street. _Clearly, being around Aldo is going to result in some sort of bodily injury_ , he thought. Aldo had blasted the car’s stereo, and people walking around the car would look into it, wondering whether Dean Martin’s voice was coming from the car or did he resurrect from the dead to come sing to them. Wincing, Tom ducked his head down, praying for the train station to somehow pick itself up and bring it to where he was; that would bring an end to this torture.

The ride back resulted in a terrific migraine; Tom opted to be dropped off at the restaurant than at the Basilica. Gio told him that it was within walking distance from the cathedral, and quite frankly, Tom needed the fresh air. It felt like he had been breathing the air in Aldo’s car forever. The scent of cologne mixed with cheese had built a crater in his mind, which could have been the cause of the migraine. Getting out, he was ready to suck the air from every other person’s mouth if it was needed. Back still bent, he smiled at Aldo, trying to make it look as effortless as possible (he was an actor, for godssake).

“No charge, amico mio,” he insisted. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” he nodded. The car zoomed off in another direction as soon as Tom uttered the last syllable. He could finally straighten his back, which made the throbbing in his head lessen.  Looking around, he searched for any sign that could point him to the basilica. He walked a little further, with his hands in his pockets, and his eyes hidden in his cap. _Violet could be nearby, right? It was about lunch time, and she could be in any of these cafes._ Rubbing the back of his neck, he peeked through the doors of every little café he could find. The key was to look for her, and not make eye contact with anyone else at the same time. Ladies passed him by, some by themselves, and some had their arms around others. As beautiful as each of them were, they were not Violet. _Damn it, Vi. Where are you?_

He passed a crowd of people, muttering 'permessos' along the way. Looking back one more time, he pulled his sunglasses down as the crowd moved in the opposite direction. A little boy in a Thor and Loki tshirt had seen him, and immediately tugged on his parents’ shirts. He had seen the boy pointing, at him and frantically turning his head in his father’s direction. “Dad, look! It’s Loki! It’s Loki!”

 Sunglasses back on, Tom bolted into a nearby street, leaning against a wall. There were tourists laughing and pointing at the buildings with their cameras which seemed to grow in size to him. He was back in that same forest in which he got lost a child.  Trees, not people swirled around him as he clutched the cool wall with his hand. _What is this? Why is everyone rushing to see me? Have they figured it out? Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Wait. Was that…

“Violet,” he sighed when he saw her bag swishing along with her. Creeping toward the street, he caught her arm and squeezed her against his chest.

“What the fuck are you…Tom?!”

“I’m so sorry. I’m just so happy to see you!” he exclaimed, picking her up, and twirling her around.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Uuuhhmmm…because… _parting with you was such sweet sorrow?_ _”_

_“Do I wanna know, or will the hug just do it?_

“The hug, definitely,” he nodded, resting his cheek on her head as she rubbed his back.

“All right, big guy. Let’s find some lunch, shall we?”

***

 “Come on, darling,” Tom insisted. “I promise you look beautiful just as you are.”

“Yeah?” she asked, popping her head out of the bathroom. “Next thing you know, you’ll tell me you like me for my personality.”

“But I do like your personality,” he smiled.

“Sure you do,” she quipped, coming out. Her dress was white, and covered in violets which flew in the air as she did a twirl for him. “Look, I’m wearing me!”

Laughing, Tom caught hold of her hand mid-twirl, and pressed his lips to it. “We have to make it before sunset. Bring your camera, darling”

“Can I ask where we’re going now?” she asked, keeping hold of his hand.

“A place.”

“I hate you.”

Tom clutched his chest, letting out exaggerated breaths. “That went straight to my heart, like a flower scented torpedo.”

Watching them come down into the restaurant, Maria beamed, nudging Gio’s arm. She whispered in Gio’s ear, blushing afterwards when he nuzzled her nose. Gio looked up, waging his finger at the two of them. “You come back late, hai capito?”

“We promise,” they both said in unison.

“Ciao.”

Aldo lunged for Tom’s hand, shaking his whole 6’2 figure when he shook hands. Licking his lips, he kissed her hand, and covered his hand over it. “You are…beautiful. Beautiful!”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “You…are quite handsome yourself.”

“See, Thomas?” he wiggled his eyes at Tom. “I tell you, didn’t I?”

Before getting into the car, Violet made a heart with her hands, and, pointed at him.  Violet failed to suppress a shriek as Tom sat down in one go, pressing her against the car window. Shuffling in place, he wrapped his arms around Violet, and placed her in between his legs. Her legs would have to be draped over his knee, but at least she would have some space to breathe. When the car screeched to a halt, Violet would bang against his chest. It did not take her long to be able to predict when the next stop was coming, so she could cushion head against her hand. Shaking her head, she looked at Tom for some sort of indication that this was a really crappy car ride. That, and she needed him to check for anything sticky which could have gotten in her hair.

“What’s going on?” she mouthed.

“He’s Gio’s friend,” he mouthed back. “I couldn’t have said no.”

Frowning, Violet did what was only left to do: she stared out from the window as the purple gathered in the sky. _What the fuck was Tom doing with all of this?_ _Just do not let it be a billboard with my name on it, or a fresco of us on the wall, or something like that._

“Vi, we’re here,” Tom pointed out. “You have to open the door.”

Pulling herself up on his knee, she opened the door, stepping out. Her legs were all sore, and she stared at her hands, wondering how they got so sticky in such a short period of time. The cab bumped and rocked as Tom scoot out of it. Wincing, he stretched his arms out, breathing in the sweet freedom.

“You two stay,” Aldo said. “I come. Get you later.”

“All right,” Tom nodded, raising his hand up. He wrapped his arm around Violet’s shoulder, and walked toward the square, where a concert of people already stood.

She furrowed her brow, staring at his arm. “Tom, those tourists.”

“I know,” he nodded. “It’s not the most comfortable feeling, but I’m willing to risk it. I won’t be able to see your reaction if I’m too busy worrying about someone seeing us.”

“That’s pretty bold, dude.”

“It’s nice to be a little bold,” he remarked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

The sun was ready to seek refuge behind the hills in the distant. This was the last time Violet and Tom would take in of that jovial sun, bouncing around the room, making things clearer. The Arno river, which appeared brown up close, now became orange, as if droplets from the sun had dripped into it, like a melting popsicle. The pillowy purple clouds had taken in some of that color as they descended to the city of Florence; a stairway could have been made from the top of the hills. However, if something were to poke the hills, they could have popped, and flattened in a minute’s time.

Tom and Violet had found a quiet place in the corner to sit down. Violet, who was rendered speechless at the sight of the sunset, sat quietly. “Can I keep it all, Tom?”

“I wish we could,” he said, while Violet took a few shots of the scene. “Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table.”

Smiling, Violet slowly put the camera in her lap. “Let us go through the streets, through certain half-deserted streets, the muttering retreats of restless nights in one night cheap-hotels…”

“…and sawdust restaurants with oyster shells,” he murmured.

Looking around, she chuckled. “In the square where women come and go. Talking of Michelangelo.”

“Violet?”

“Yes, Tom?”

“Your feeling regarding me when we were in New York…are they still the same?

“My feelings…”

“About you being in love with me.”

“Do you still feel the same way?”

“Yes.”

“How can you? I’m different from the girl you knew in New York.”

“You’re not.”

“No, I am, Tom. Four years ago, I was in a different place. What I thought was love then, isn’t how I perceive it now.”

“So, you don’t love me?”

“We have to build a foundation before we go anywhere near love, sweetheart. We can’t pick up things where we left of.”

“I see,” he replied, looking at his hands.

Smiling, she caressed the nape of his neck, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Just because we can’t be friends with benefits anymore, doesn’t mean we can’t actually date, dumbass. I feel like I need a century to get to know you again.”

“We have tonight to do that.”

“Then, we better make it count.”

“We won’t be able to do that with Aldo hovering over us.”

She bit her lip, giving Tom a knowing look. “Let’s get out of here.”

Holding hands, they headed towards the first pathway they saw. The sun was gone now, and the square was lit up with streetlights when they left. Tom narrated his morning escapade he had with Aldo and his deathtrap of a car. Violet almost lost her balance because of how hilarious the whole thing was, and leaned against him.

“I just might actually hook up with him,” she shrugged. “At least he’d show me a good time, _all the time_.”

“I’ll just buy the same cologne he has and you’ll never tell the difference.”

“The things you do for me,” she smiled. “I’m going to have to pay you back big time some day.”

Compared to the square, the people and cars had decreased, and would pass every now and then. Faint French music could be heard, and neon letters, twinkled like dying fireflies from behind the bushes. The music which beckoned them so sweetly had been coming down from a rundown building with deep red, deteriorating paint. The lights they saw were from the curved letters hanging above the door: “Parigi”.

It was almost like they were meant to be there.

 Any sensible person would run in the opposite direction, as close to the crowds as possible. The music had died down, and switched to a new song, one Violet had heard long ago in her grandparent’s house. The record brought back her grandmother’s pearl necklaces, and fur coats, and her grandfather’s lighter and fedora. She would always sit on the floor, watching her grandparents dance like it was better than any love story anyone ever showed her. The song had become her mystery man, and she would dance with it to sleep. Now, that train of memories rushed by her as she swayed to the song, mumbling the words to herself. _“Hold me close and hold me fast...The magic spell you cast…This is la vie en rose…”_

“Mind if I cut in?” Tom asked softly, turning her toward him. “Watching you dance without me makes me feel terribly lonely.”

She beamed, remembering what her Grandma Emmy used to say. “C’me here, you.”

Violet’s  hands crept up, resting against the name of his neck. Tom  buried his head on his favorite spot in her shoulder, his hands instinctively coming together at her soft swaying waist. Sighing, Violet brushed his curls with her fingers, singing along with Louis Armstrong in his ear. _“And when you speak...angels sing from above…Everyday words seem...to turn into love songs.”_

The song ended with Violet and Tom holding each other, being the only two people there. Closing his eyes, Tom kissed her temple. He was going to brush his thumb against her cheek, had she not been looking at him with her big, crystal clear eyes. She was home to him, and home was her. She was the worn out sofas, the hammock in the backyard, the bricks, the foundation. At the same time, he was the warm fireplace, the gigantic duvet, the sunshine that ran through the curtain in the morning.

“Makes a pretty good first date, huh?” He asked.

“Reminds me of Notting Hill, for some reason.”

“You’re prettier than Julia Roberts.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m Hugh Grant. The clueless, but lovable nutcase who gets it just before the movie ends.”

“What part are we on, darling?”

“This one,” she smiled, pressing her lips to his. She took her time; there was no need to be urgent. It was important to appreciate the lines on his lips, to lock tongues, to feel close to him. Violet moaned into his mouth, pressing her temple against his. “That was nice.”

“Nice is a gross understatement, Vi.”

“Let’s just walk around for some more time before Aldo finds us.”

“Mmmm, depends,” he remarked, trailing kisses down her neck. “Will I get another kiss again?”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love dancing scenes okay?  
> The song: La Vie en Rose (the Louis Armstong cover)  
> The view (from what I've seen in pictures and through experience): completely breathtaking.


	16. Going Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the long wait. Rest assured, now that my exams are over, these updates will be frequent. Also, I'd like to especially thank Google and Yahoo asks for providing the Italian translations; feel free to correct me if they are inaccurate. Also, I think my Beta's a little busy, so I'll be editing my own work (to the best of my capabilities), so bear with me if there's something off in the text.

Of course, they eventually had to go find Aldo; they could not just leave him like that.

It took longer to find their way back to the Piazza than to find Aldo’s car. The music from ‘ _Parigi_ ’ had died down the further they went from the building. Violet turned around, trying to find its location again, but all she saw were bushed and street lights. Had she not seen the sign, touched the walls, and danced with Tom to the sweet melody of the song playing inside, she would have brushed it off as a fabrication of the mind. But, it was so real!

She walked a little closer to Tom, letting his arm hide her from the strange feeling which seemed to tiptoe behind them. However, Violet visibly relaxed at the sight of the cars congested around the Piazza. And, there was the cab, nestled in between two regular sized cars. Aldo saw them approach, and wiggled his fingers at them out of his window. What looked like a scowl from the distance was actually a knowing smirk once they came closer. “You two...” he grinned. “Ma favorite turisti!”

“Oh, Aldo. We’re so sorry we left you like that.”

“S’OK, bella. I see you go, but I say ‘No! You be together.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Aldo. Grazie Mille.”

The sudden halts and the blare of the car horn now only made them laugh. They were both sure that no matter what corner of the world they travel to (separately or together); there’s nothing that could compete against the aroma of the olive oil, and moldy cheese, which was so prominent in Aldo’s cab. Tom held on to Violet’s waist from behind, and Violet clutched her dress so that Aldo would not get an eyeful from underneath her dress. Though, halfway through the ride, she was pretty sure Tom just pushed his face against hers because he enjoyed her reaction to it. Laughing, she turned to look at Aldo’s forehead in the rear view mirror.

“Hey, Aldo, how do you say ‘I’m crazy about you’ in Italian?” she called.

“The women, they say _‘sono pazza di te’_.”

She stroked along Tom’s jaw line, batting her eyelashes. “ _Sono pazza di te_.”

He tucked her hair back, and rested his nose against her temple. “ _Mi hai rubato il cuore_.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘you stole my heart’. I traveled around Italy when I was nineteen, and this is one of the few things I still remember.”

“Smooth,” she purred. “I can almost feel my panties slipping down my legs.”

The car halted in front of the restaurant, which was filled to the door. It was time for dinner, and they could hear Gio yelling out orders to the others. Tom fell out of the cab first; he opened the door, and held Violet’s hand when it was her turn to get out of it. Aldo promised to take them to the train station in a few hours of work, and zigzagged off into the distance. 

“However the fuck we’ll be able to fit our suitcases in the cab with ourselves will be a mystery to me,” Tom remarked.

Laughing, Violet leaned against the cool, brick wall, taking in the smell of freshly melted mozzarella coming from the restaurant. “I swear, one day, I’ll marry a huge mozzarella ball, and have little Panini with it.”

Elbow on the wall, Tom leaned forward, pushing up against her. “You’ll leave me inconsolable, Vi.”

“Uh-huh?” she asked, breaking into a grin. “Then, you better fight for me.”

Breathing slowly, Tom’s arm slithered around her waist as he stared her down. With every exhale, the surrounding lights buzzed around them like bees in the night. Violet arms wrapped around his neck, stroking his back from under the soft fabric of the t-shirt. Tom pressed his nose to her forehead, softly nibbling on her bottom lip. Holding her chin in his hand, he pressed soft kisses all over her face. Before their lips met, Tom gazed into her eyes, seeing his own reflection in front of her dilated pupils. Her shoulders rose up, and froze as her tongue receiving a warm welcome back into Tom’s mouth. She felt the weight of his hands on her waist, as he moaned into her mouth.

“I want you, Vi,” he murmured. “I’d have you right here, for all I care.”

“Truth be told, honey. I’m not much of an exhibitionist.”

“We’ll just have to have sex in the train’s loo,” he countered, grazing her legs.

“Like, the ground version of the Mile High Club? Let’s give put sex off the table for some time.”

Tom pulled away, taking her hand before she walked too far away from him. “Vi?”

“ _Sì, mi amore_?”

“Is it odd that I want to eat Chinese right now?”

For once, Violet allowed Tom to turn on his phone, to work out the nearest Chinese restaurants to them. The place was just getting packed, and the waiters were nice enough to tuck them away in a private corner for some extra money. They sat in a corner by the window, the cool air brought a calm to equate with the heat of the day. The food, however, took a while to arrive, and it reached to the point where Violet and Tom resorted to thumb wrestling matches to pass their time (“Fuck you, and your big-ass thumbs, Tom!”).

Finally, the food showed up, and Violet sighed into her chair. “Unbelievable. Some of the best Chinese food I’ve had, and I found it in Florence, Italy.”

“It’s amazing, truly,” Tom nodded. “Have you ever been to Nobu? You’ll love it; the sushi is amazing.”

“I don’t do sushi. It’s weird, and it’s mushy, and it’s not my thing.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

“I don’t even like fish sticks.”

“Well…there is obviously more on their menu,” he retorted. “Maybe… you come visit me in London. I’m there for November, and early December.”

“Tom…”

“I’ll buy a painting, and have you come over with it. It takes literally two hours from Paris to London on a train.”

“I can’t carry an expensive painting with me on a train,” she replied, bemused with the idea. “Since when have you been into buying art?”

He bit his lip, nodding. “I know about art…but just a little. But, it’s an excuse for you to meet my friends and family.”

“I don’t know, Tom,” she shrugged. “I’ve always been your super secret friend.”

“Well, then, you tell me about your family.”

Tom had never asked that, at least for as long as Violet could recall. She knew about his family; divorced parents, two sisters, and he spent most of his life in boarding school. There was not much to tell; her parents were high school sweethearts. They did love each other after all these years, though they often shied away from hand holding and kissing in front of everyone. Her mother was a middle school teacher, devoted to work and her only child. She genuinely wanted to be able to make a difference in other people’s lives, and teaching came naturally to her. But, her mother also had a latent hoarder within her; there would always be a few new things around the house after her mother’s frequent trips to IKEA.

Violet’s father was a different subject, a trickier one. He was now a partner of a law firm; he gave up her childhood for the sake of work, and was hardly ever around. She was always torn between her devotion and disappointment when it came to her father. The adoration would be a result of his seemingly infinite knowledge of the world, and it was something which she desired to inherit from him at some point in her life. However, disappointment usually prevailed over her adoration; a last minute case would come up, and he would never come to her volleyball games or her school plays. The only time they could bond was when they put the dishes in the dishwasher, and the occasional end-of-the-weekend-family-movie.

However, her cats were her childhood companions while her parents worked with their own jobs. It seemed odd to her that she was unable to stay catless for a maximum of seven months. Cats seemed to find her, and she took it as a sign to shelter them.

“And Chaplin’s been the first cat I had since I graduated,” she finished, reaching the reaching Gio’s house. “That’s little ol’ me.”

“That’s never been anything short of adorable, Vi,” he grimaced, walking up the stairs. Gio and Maria closed the restaurant early, to say goodbye to their friends. They had a long way to go, and none of them knew if, or when they would see each other. Coffee drunk and laughs shared, Violet leaned against Tom’s chest in one of the booths. Maria saw the way Tom had his arm around her, and mumbled something to her husband in Italian. Frowning, Gio nodded, and handed over a few Euros from his pocket.

“And then, we found this old building near the Piazza,” Violet explained. “It didn’t look like anyone was there, but I could hear Louis Armstrong’s music coming from inside.”

“This place…what it’s name was?” Maria asked.

“ _Parigi_ ,” Violet replied. “It’s funny we found it because we actually came from Paris.”

Maria shook her head, telling her daughter something in Italian. “My mother says that place closed in the early 1990s.”

“But, we... saw it.”

“That building’s been run down for years. No one goes there.”

“Tom…” Violet, gulped. “You did see that place, right?”

He nodded, protectively putting his arm around her. “It probably came from nearby, or one of the houses.”

“I heard it… I heard the sound come from the inside,” she protested.

“Some children probably doing some mischief,” Gio assured her.

“I’m going to have nightmares about this,” Violet murmured, as Tom tucked her hair back behind her ear.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, darling.”

***

A beam of light pierced through a dimly lit movie set, shining on Violet. Another shone directly on someone whose back was turned towards her; he was wearing the same suit Tom wore when she visited him on set in Paris. The voice of a director yelled ‘action!’ from the above them (she could not see him, but she just knew it was a director speaking). Violet raised her arm, calling Tom’s name repeatedly. But, he just had his back to her, staying still. As she walked towards him, the distance increased, and bright flashes surrounded her. Reporters and photographers pushed and shoved one another, hitting her face with their camera lens and microphones. Who was she? More importantly, who did she think she was for screwing Tom Hiddleston behind the world’s back?

The voices called out, “How dare she?! Burn her! Humiliate her!”

Her hands were shaking when she finally reached him. She touched his shoulder, and hugged him from behind. “Tom, what’s going on?”

“Violet!” Matt grinned, turning around to wrap his arms around her waist. He kissed her neck repeatedly, licking it. Shuddering, Violet pulled away, and ran in the other direction.

“He’s going to hurt you!” he yelled.

“You don’t know him!” she shouted back, wiping her eyes.

“Neither do you!”

Running out of a nearby exit, she ended up at the door to ‘ _Parigi_ ’. This time, no music came from inside, and the otherwise locked door was ajar. Whilst trying to open it, the door swung open by itself. Violet was getting sucked inside, left to stay hidden with everything else that had been shut away from the rest of the world. She held on to a nearby tree, but the force was too strong. Thrashing, and screaming, she looked around desperately, with the hope that someone would come and save her. “Please! Somebody get me out! Somebody, please!”

Now Tom’s voice, and not that of the director’s voice came from above her. “Darling, wake up. Please, wake up.”

“Tom!” she gasped, clinging on to him as her eyes tore open.

“You were calling my name, and I woke up,” he explained. He pulled up the armrest between them, and let her lean against him.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, hiding her face in his chest, “Tom… what happens when we go back? I’m tired of hiding.”

“Sweetheart, no one’s asking you to hide. We just have to see to a few things before we decide to go public.”

She glanced up at him, “Like what?”

“Talk to Luke. You need to privatize all your social media accounts, tell your family and friends not to talk to anyone about us. Things like that.”

“You never told me this before.”

“You weren’t my girl before,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll deal with these things when they come; for now, it’s just you and me.”

She smiled, feeling infinitely calmer. Breaking into a grin, Violet puckered her lips for him. “I didn’t quite register that last kiss; looks like I need another one.”

Chuckling, he leaned in for a quick peck, and nuzzled her nose. “Do you know what they call ‘kiss’ in Italian?”

“Surprise me.”

“‘ _Il bacio’_ is a kiss, and ‘ _Baciami’_ is ‘kiss me’.”

She giggled, “You sound like Mario and Luigi when you speak Italian.”

“Damn it, I thought it would turn you on.”

They had reached the last leg of their journey, and decided to sit on opposite sides of each other, so as not to attract attention. Violet stared out of the window, taking in the last few scenes outside, before they entered Gare de Lyon station. Her eyes flickered over to Tom, who was looking through the camera, pointing out the ones she needed to send him. He remarked how Violet had not taken any nude photos of herself for him to keep; he would have kept those especially close during the longer shoots. She leaned back against the seat, thinking about Chaplin waiting for her by the door, her tail swishing like a dog’s tail does. Violet was so ready to go home to her girl; next time, she would take Chaplin along in a cage.

“Vi?”

“Mmm?”

“I’ll have a few more busy days, but next weekend, we’ll go out. And you can show me around Paris.”

“You’ve seen Paris, honey.”

“I mean, _your_ Paris. All your favorite places, here. I probably don’t know a lot of them.”

“My Paris,” she repeated. “ _Chez moi_.”

Groaning, she stood up when the train stopped, and stretched in place. She picked up her bag, while Tom (ever the gentleman) handled the luggage. After a quick check to make sure they did not leave anything behind, they set off above ground. Tom quickly pulled out his cell phone, and called Luke, “Yeah, we’ve reached. Everything fine, no one saw us. All right, we’re coming up.”

Violet did not remember much that happened after they walked out of the station. She remembered an escalator ride which became shorter each time she tried to recollect it. It was like her dream again; the flashes, and microphones which surrounded her. Only this time, Violet could _feel_ their hands brush against hers, and their breath on her neck. A continuously growing crowd had gathered outside the station for Tom’s photographs and autographs. Urgently, she looked for him, blinking repeatedly when a camera flashed in her eyes. Someone gripped Violet’s arm, pulling her out of the crowd. She felt Luke’s hand on her back as he led her away from the swarm of people.

“We can’t,” she protested, turning back. “We have to go get Tom.”

“He’s closer to the car then we are. Right now, we need to get you out of this.”

“What’s going on?”

“Someone apparently tipped them off,” he said. “They come together in swarms.”

“Over here!” she murmured, pulling him into the alleyway, and walking further down it. When they were sure no one was behind them, they stopped.

Panting, Violet ran her fingers through her hair. “Fuck, Luke. What’s going to happen now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ref. to Tom's trip to Italy when he was younger: http://www.empireonline.com/interviews/interview.asp?IID=1424


End file.
